


Tumblr Collection from the Days We Don't Speak About

by freethedoncastertwo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, just putting this up for now, tags and pairings will be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 11:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17283482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freethedoncastertwo/pseuds/freethedoncastertwo
Summary: I've been planning to do it for ages, and since tumblr is a sinking ship I've decided to move all my old 1D fics here. It's a weirdly satisfying way to start the year. Maybe I'll even move my old anime fics over from FF.net, haha. So each chapter here will be a fic that was previously posted on tumblr. Some are actually kind of nice, while some are crappy and/or unfinished. It's just to keep a record of them.





	1. Fire and Sweet, Sweet Sky

**Title:** Fire and Sweet, Sweet Sky

 **Summary:**  Harry always knew he was different. Louis knew he’d never be the same. Medieval AU.

_Fire only knows how to burn._

Harry always knew he was different. He had green eyes and too much charisma and skin that years of toil in harsh sunlight couldn’t burn; fairest skin that his mother said looked just like goats’ milk in the mornings. He had green eyes and a mischievous streak, and he never laid his fingers on a girl except to please or comfort her. He had green eyes and a heart full to bursting with far too much love for his fumbling youth to hold, and demons didn’t play in those emerald depths – but it never stopped other villagers from thinking that they did.

Harry was eighteen, but he was malnourished enough that he could have passed for much younger. He huddled amongst filthy rags, trying to stop his-queasy-with-hunger stomach from lurching every time the cage jolted. Donkeys pulled it forward, and the ascent up the sloping road that led to the city walls was jarring and slow. For the most part, Harry kept his eyes squeezed tight to block out the blinding sun. Occasionally he’d peek them open to glance warily at the whispering citizens they passed, only to be met with stony faces and eyes that said  _‘burn.’_

Harry didn’t want to burn.

Harry wasn’t a witch or warlock. It wasn’t wrong to speak to the forest or to know the mountain’s heart better than one’s own; to trust the mountain’s guidance better than the flimsy words of others. It wasn’t wrong to dance by firelight or sing songs in other tongues. It wasn’t wrong to sing like the angels. It wasn’t wrong to sleep under the open sky and feel at ease, or slip from a bandit’s grasp without a scratch (despite the fact that the villagers had gossiped about it for weeks). Harry didn’t despise God. He was intimate with His creations; that was all. He knew God better than they ever did.

Harry didn’t want to burn.

The thin boy’s eyes widened as the cart finally approached the city gates. They were tall enough to allow giants passage, he fancied. Elegant carvings adorned pillars of stone and marble, and a towering castle stretched into the clouds behind them; reaching further than beanstalks could grow. Tears filled his eyes then, and he buried his head into his threadbare blanket. He wasn’t very old; not really. He cried. Not snuffling, broken sobs; not even wet, wracking ones. He cried in low, desperate moans, the kind a mother makes when torn from her child. He shook violently and cried so hard he nearly screamed. These were animalistic noises. They were sounds of utter torment.

Voices carried on around him, for the most part unworried. They heard this every day.

Harry was half-listening. He heard the cart being pulled through the doorway, and the telltale rackety sound that signified the road changing from dirt to cobblestone. He heard keys, and his head snapped up. Heart racing, he looked around and located to source of the sound. His heart sank – false alarm. A guard laughed at him, tucking the heavy keys in his pocket. “No luck for you today.”

Harry’s lip wavered and he curled up again, trying to ignore the men laughing harder around him. His carted cage kept bumping over cobblestones and swaying around sharp corners. Eventually it came to a rumbling stop, and the noises of the busy town had quietened a bit. A sick feeling gnawed in the pit of Harry’s stomach. They had entered the city circle.

The guards left him then. There was a disturbing lack of activity for a few minutes, and Harry cautiously poked his head up. He watched from a distance as the men who had escorted him and a number of other prisoners went to report to a group of richly-clad men. These strangers were presumably the Royal Guard – knights, every one. Harry’s eyes focused, and he identified a man in exuberant garb whom he supposed to be the king. He knew what was happening. His escorts would inform the king of his and the other prisoners’ arrival. The king would be making preparations for the weekly executions, the ‘witch burnings’ as he called them. They were a spectacle in the city, Harry knew – many gathered to heckle and throw stones as folk like him were burnt at the stake. As Harry’s gaze drifted over the group, his eyes settled on a young man who couldn’t have been much older than himself. This one may have been the prince. He was slight, effeminate, and would have seemed completely out of place in a group of such dominant men if it weren’t for the presence he seemed to command at will. Even from a distance, Harry could tell that the reverence the older men showed him had little to do with his regal heritage.

After a few minutes, the group turned and began walking back towards him. Harry peeled himself from the corner and backed up against the other side of the cage instinctively, his heart pounding so hard he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He knew the routine – the royalty and their associates would examine the prisoners; deeming them acceptable or not. The king would give them some pompous, self-righteous speech about the evils of witchcraft. He would leave to make further preparations, and Harry would wait to die.

They drew closer. Harry could hear what they were saying now. “Bit of a scraggly bunch this week, not many plucky ones,” one of the men was saying. “Still, I imagine there’ll be a couple of screamers,” he added, lips curling maliciously and eyes darkening with sick humour as his eyes brushed over Harry. He moved on to the other cages, intent on telling the king all about the ingenuity it had taken him to capture them.

One amongst them wasn’t listening. The prince had trailed towards Harry. He wasn’t dressed exuberantly like his father, or threateningly like the guards. His feathered hair was clean and soft, and he wore a simple white shirt. Simple, but probably of a finer material than Harry had ever touched in his life. His eyes were a glistening blue. Harry didn’t know why he latched on to that fact – he supposed that when one knows one is about to die, one savours every sight and detail of life that they can.

He stopped just inches away from Harry’s cage. “God, you’re just a boy,” he breathed.

Harry tried to speak, but he could find neither the breath nor words. He just stared. The stranger was exquisite. Harry didn’t know what had come over himself, but he was suddenly sure that he was regarding someone of otherworldly beauty. He was divine, if there was such a thing. If Heaven existed it was here in this boy.

The stranger’s eyes spoke a heavy sadness. Harry felt a sudden, illogical anger, not at his own imminent death but at the fact that this person should be made to look so sad. Golden-toned hands reached up through the bars and the stranger brushed the hair out of Harry’s eyes, seemingly unaware of the curious gazes that were now upon him. “I’m Louis,” he murmured, and maybe it was Harry’s dizzying hunger speaking but he thought he could hear the angels sing.

Losing awareness of himself, Harry leaned into the touch. He finally managed to clear his rasping throat. Recalling his ability to breath, Harry shakily responded. “Mm Harry. Nice to meet you… wish it was under better circumstances though.”

To Harry’s surprise, Louis laughed. The laughter had traces of melancholy, but what little mirth the occasion allowed for was still enough to light up Louis’ face brilliantly. Harry was laughing along moments later, a deep laugh that ached from disuse but still found a place harmonising with Louis’ sweeter peals. Louis composed himself and shook his head, brushing his hair from his eyes and smiling apologetically at Harry. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for laughing. It’s just… you caught me by surprise. I can’t explain it.”

Harry shrugged, feeling lighter in spite of the bizarre situation. A wry smile played tentatively on his own lips. “It’s okay. I needed a laugh.”

Louis’ face fell again, then. “I’m sorry –” he choked out in a whispered breath, before a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Louis looked up in alarm, and Harry’s gaze followed.

The king raised an eyebrow at Louis. “Son. Making friends, are we?” he inquired. The words sounded jovial enough, but his tone was laced with layers of meaning that Harry couldn’t quite understand.

Louis’ eyes widened and flashed with what might have been panic. When he spoke, however, his voice was deliberately calm. “I was just fraternising with one of our people, father. He  _is_  one of our people, whether we’ve forsaken him or not.” Louis’ shoulders were steel and his voice was steelier, edged now with unmistakeable defiance.

“Fraternising? Shoulda heard him  _fraternising_  with the blacksmith’s nephew Thursday last –” Harry heard one of the men scoff as he walked past, snickering to himself. Louis visibly tensed, but the king didn’t seem to have heard it.

His grip on his son’s shoulder tightened regardless. “You will join me on the balcony to watch the burnings, as always,” he instructed coldly, and Harry sensed that this was a continuation of some earlier conversation or argument.

Louis hesitated. “Can we spare this one?” he asked out of the blue.

Harry’s heart leapt up hopefully. He clamped his lips together and glanced from Louis to the king, not sparing a thought to wonder about the prince’s motives – if someone offers to save your life, you take the offer. His hands clenched around the bars of the cage as he watched the king with bated breath.

The king’s jaw clenched irritably. “Louis, our esteemed laws and values dictate –”

Louis spun around, facing his father. “He’s just a  _child!_ ” he exclaimed, voice rising fast. His father turned to leave, shaking his head. “This is a new low, even for you,” Louis continued savagely, but was cut off by a harsh slap to the face.

Harry gasped unwittingly, sitting forward so fast the cart rocked. The knights and workers present fell silent at once, their gazes upon the royal pair. The prisoners in cages further away craned their necks around to see what had happened. The king glared down at his son with a black fury that terrified Harry. Louis’ gaze was upon the ground, his hand raised to his stinging cheek as the rebellious energy seemed to leave his body.

The king drew his hand back and wiped it upon a handkerchief. “You will go to your chambers,” he told Louis after a moment’s dreadful silence. “Don’t come out again until I call for you.”

Louis paused. Sighing so lightly only Harry could hear it, he bowed. “I’m sorry, father,” he mumbled. He straightened and cast one tearful glance at Harry before he turned and walked off in composed disgrace.

-

Harry lay on his back. He stared through the cage bars at the starry sky, just contemplating it. He had gazed at these stars countless times before, but it felt odd knowing that this time would be his last. The execution was in the morning. Harry’s mind had gone somewhat blank, knowing that. He just didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to shiver in the night air, watch the stars and feel numb.

Harry adjusted his blanket, humming lightly. He had been singing quietly for hours now, sifting through the old songs his mother had taught him and feeling each note fondly as they resounded in his bones.

“Psst.”

Harry shifted. The noise caught his interest, but only for a second, before he dismissed it as one of the many strange sounds of the city. He gave a little sigh and returned to his stargazing.

“ _Psssssst._ ”

The noise couldn’t be ignored now. It was an unmistakeable whisper, and Harry frowned in curiosity at that. He popped his head up and looked around. Someone was trying to catch his attention.

Harry squinted, trying to locate the speaker in the open courtyard illuminated only by moonlight. His eyes settled on other carts, on barrels and empty market stalls.  _Where…?_

“Harry.”

Harry jumped at the whisper that came from right by his side. His shoulders shot upwards in shock, and a face appeared through the bars of his cage. His jaw dropped open when he realised it was none other than the Prince.

Louis was bending low to avoid being seen, and a finger was raised to his lips.

“Sshh.”

Harry nodded. He watched noiselessly as Louis fumbled with something at his waist, and clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. As Louis brought up the object it glinted in the moonlight and Harry saw what it was – a ring of keys. Harry’s eyes darted to Louis’ face. Louis didn’t meet his gaze, his face set in concentration as he slipped one key inside the lock on Harry’s cage and it clicked.

Louis lifted his eyes to Harry’s. He signalled slowly with his fingers. Harry nodded in understanding. He’d begun pushing against the cage door as soon as his mind had seized upon the possibility of it opening.

The door gave way and Harry quickly clambered out. Granted with sudden freedom, Harry’s first instinct was to bolt and he nearly did so – until he remembered that he wouldn’t get far without Louis; without being able to find his way around. He turned to the Prince with wide, frightened eyes.

Louis smiled. “Here.” He threw an apple to Harry. Harry caught it and dug in at once, nodding a hungry thanks.

As Harry ate, Louis pulled him gently down and began crawling along the ground. Harry wordlessly followed. When Louis stopped, Harry stopped, and Louis would pause to poke his head up and sneak a quick glance around. Then he set off again. Harry set off again. Harry didn’t know whether he could truly trust Louis, but it was better than the alternative.

So he watched Louis’ strong back and silken hair and pale, fine shirt, and wondered why this seraph might wish to save  _him_.

Dawn was only a couple of hours away now, Harry could tell by the lighter tint to the indigo sky. Harry could take in more of his surroundings, and as they crawled, he noticed they were lining the inner city walls. Eventually they came to a small, ramshackle building. Harry studied it in confusion for a moment. He watched, surprised, when the Prince pushed at the side of a boarded wooden wall and scrambled inside.

Louis turned, beckoning to Harry. His eyes were alight in what could have been gladness, or mischief. “Come on! Come inside!”

Harry glanced around before he crawled in after him.

From what he could make out in the dark once inside, the building was a shed full of hay. Louis covered the hole in the wall and turned to Harry. “The guards are patrolling the exit and entrance points, but they take a break in an hour. For now, no one will find us in here.”

 **A/N:** Yep I never finished this one. :(


	2. Copy and Keep

**Title:** Copy and Keep

 **Summary:**  Harry’s a good person, and Louis photocopies his bum.

 

It’s a little-known fact that Harry Styles owns a photocopier.

It’s also a little-known fact that Louis Tomlinson has never photocopied his bum.

Louis keeps it all very hush-hush, of course. He has a  _reputation to maintain_ , or so he’s told Harry. Harry doesn’t quite understand the psychology of it, because  _his_ reputation maintenance generally involves taking photos of bananas, helping old ladies cross the street and only making sassy remarks when they’re absolutely necessary (and even then, making them well). It’s pretty easy work. But Louis has a different kind of reputation, and apparently his involves leading everyone to believe that he has, in fact, photocopied his bottom and is, in fact, a veteran at it. Nobody knows the truth except Harry, and Harry hasn’t told anyone. Harry’s a good friend.

The fraudulence of being a faux butt-copying veteran has been getting Louis down lately though, and Harry wants to help.

Hence the photocopier.

They’re on the set of the  _Best Song Ever_  video, and Louis has been eyeing the photocopier all morning. See, he doesn’t know that it’s Harry’s. Harry put it there. Harry has been watching Louis, and a little thrill of delight goes through him every time Louis glances at that photocopier and wiggles his butt.

Harry is such a good friend. It has nothing to do with the fact that Harry wants to own something that has touched Louis’ butt, or the fact that he likes pictures. Nope. Harry Styles is just that kind of person. Harry Styles is just that caring a pal.

They’re on lunch break when Louis sees his chance, and Harry sees his own.

Louis sneaks into the room that holds the photocopier while the rest of their entourage are having lunch outside, and Harry sneaks in after him. Harry is very sneaky for a probably-over-six-feet-tall person. Louis doesn’t even know he’s there.

Harry crawls along the ground, and it’s a little uncomfortable because of his back. It’s kind of really, really uncomfortable, but Harry is a really, really,  _really_  good friend.

Harry ducks behind a pot-plant and watches Louis sneakily. Louis pulls his trousers down and plops himself up onto the photocopier, his bottom bare. Louis grins and does that little eyebrow thing that he does when he thinks he’s being particularly cheeky.

He presses  _copy_. Harry’s life is the kind of success story motivational speakers talk about.

The machine begins to scan. In a few seconds a picture of Louis’ bottom will fall out of the photocopy machine and into the tray. Harry’s arm is long, and he’s ready to grab it. Helping his friend clear the evidence, and all that. Louis’ mouth is twisting, which means he’s about to laugh. The picture prints, and Harry counts down the seconds until Louis throws his head back with laughter.

Three,

Two,

One.

Louis’ eyes close and his head tilts backwards. Impish cackles fill the air, and this is Harry’s window. He darts out from behind the pot-plant and grabs the images, then bolts out the door.

“Hey!”

Harry jumps, but it’s not Louis’ speaking voice, nor is it directed at him.

It’s Paul, and he’s in the other doorway. He’s talking to Louis.

“Get down from there!” Harry giggles as he walks out – it’s going to take more than that to make Louis remove himself. The camera people are coming in and everything. Louis is  _never_ going to leave. Nobody spots Harry as he departs the scene and rejoins his lunching peers outside. Harry is an expert at being sneaky. He could probably fool anybody.

Almost-completely-unknown fact: Harry Styles doesn’t actually own a photocopier. But he does own five pictures of Louis Tomlinson’s bum.


	3. Warm Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is back from when I tried to do what everyone else was doing and write smut. Lol. I am not a smut writer and I never should be.   
> I didn't reread the whole thing before re-posting here because I don't want to cringe, but be prepared for it to be terrible. Or just skip over it, that's fine too.

**Title:** Warm Me Up

 **Summary:**  Louis and Harry get trapped in a car during a snowstorm. Sex ensues.

 

The heater’s barely working but it still has that  _old heater_  smell about it, mingling with the scent of the waffles Harry’s bought and making Louis feel toasty on the inside even though his nose still feels chilled. He’d never say that out loud, of course. It’s his old car from Doncaster and the seats are still soft; softer than they make them, these days. They’ve run out of fucking gas on some road north of home and as much as Louis supposes he probably ought to regret his little plans when they start to go awry, he never can. He thrives off the unpredictability of ideas that have gone off their tracks; tastes them with delight like the delicious things they are. They’re parked safely along the side of the road, and Louis taps the failing heater and swears for the fun of it. “It’s  _broken_.  _Fuck._ ”

He doesn’t need to look at Harry to know he’s rolling his eyes, but he does, anyway. Harry’s wearing that wry, bemused little grin that he always seems to don around Louis, the one that says  _‘you’re crazy but I love you,’_  and always, always  _‘I’m up for this.’_  And, just. Harry’s the only one that always goes along with Louis, no matter what it is. It gets him kind of breathless, sometimes.

Louis huffs a little and turns up the radio volume, even though they’re not getting anything in this snow. Harry smiles and wipes his hand across his window, clearing the frost to peer outside. “It’s pretty bad out there,” he decides. “Guess we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

He’s right. Normally Louis would just get out and walk along ‘til he found a service station, but it’s practically a blizzard outside. There’s air and soft sky; they aren’t buried, they can breathe. But other than that it’s just  _white_. For as far as Louis can see.

Outside there’s cold and harsh winds and hailstones and probably hypothermia. Inside this metal frame he’s got feeble heating and blankets and waffles and  _Harry_ , and like, that’s enough for Louis any day.

Louis shuffles under his several layers and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. He waits for two, three seconds. Then he looks up at him and, “Let’s sit in the back?”

Harry gives him an Eskimo kiss and Louis blinks indignantly. Harry’s nose is  _cold_. But Harry’s smirking, so Louis lets his squawk die out. Harry squeezes him affectionately. “Sure.”

After that it’s a race. Louis grabs two handfuls of waffle and climbs over Harry’s shoulder, flopping into the backseat and shoving the syrupy fistfuls into his mouth with a triumphant cheer. Harry pounces down seconds later and scoots towards Louis. He messes his hair up and strokes it into place – Louis doesn’t know why he does that, he actually doesn’t  _know_  – and rests his chin on Louis shoulder. He beams up at him, and then – never one for hesitation – he licks a spot of syrup off Louis’ face.

Louis scoffs and butts Harry’s head away. He pushes him down against the seats and rolls down on top of him, grinning wickedly and getting down to business. Harry’s hands find their way up his shirt several times but they’re  _cold_  so Louis bats them away, only to bring them close and rub them between his own hands, warming them up. He presses kisses against Harry’s face as he does so, his breath slightly visible between them. Once Harry’s sufficiently warm, he threads his hands through Harry’s curls and lets Harry’s fingers find their rightful place. Harry slips one hand beneath the band of Louis trousers and brings the other up behind his head, pulling him down and kissing him slowly. “ _Lou_ ,” he murmurs, and they’re in the middle of a  _snowstorm_  for fuck’s sake but it’s still the hottest thing.

Louis groans in response and slides against Harry, looking for friction under the thick blankets. Harry sends his hands down further, pushing off Louis’ trousers and briefs and leaving his bottom half naked. Louis gasps at the sudden bareness, but Harry’s hands rub over his things and butt and hips and they climb between the covers and it’s okay.

Louis lets Harry get on top of him because it’s easier (and warmer) that way, pressing his face against the soft leather and whimpering as Harry gently opens him up. He rocks back against Harry’s fingers as Harry licks behind his ear. Harry nibbles a sensitive spot and Louis gasps, pressing back more desperately and whining, “Harry, please, please.”

Harry thumbs his shoulders in circles and takes his fingers out, kissing Louis’ cheek as he does so. Louis briefly twists around to look at him, and like. Louis is sure that if there’s any sight he wants to remember for all his life, it’s this. Harry’s fair skin and pink lips are illuminated by the white light filtering through the window, gorgeous against the backdrop of falling snow behind him. His eyes are shimmeringly soft, lips quirked teasingly and cheeks rosy in the heat of their current activity. He’s so  _young_. Sometimes it hits Louis that Harry is pretty much everything, and it’s hitting him hard right now. As Louis watches, Harry bends down and touches his tongue to Louis’ face, just below his eye. Louis’ eyelids fall closed and flutter open.

Harry comes away with a satisfied grin. “Waffle crumb.” He wiggles his tongue at Louis and the crumb is there, on the end of it.

Louis stares for a moment, and then he can’t do anything but burst into laughter. Harry looks a mix between pleased and perplexed, and Louis waves a hand at him as he struggles to right his breathing. “Just put your cock in me, you bastard.”

Harry obliges. He slides himself into Louis a bit at a time, relishing each  _“oh!”_  from the smaller boy until he’s all the way in. He shifts and Louis moans loudly, an exhibitionist even when no one else can hear them.

Harry moves slowly, concentration furrowing his brow as he settles into a rhythm. Soon he’s shaking with it, and when Louis starts to gasp each time Harry hits his prostate, Harry picks up the pace.

Louis rocks his hips back to meet Harry’s thrusts, panting and squeezing his toes together from every sensation, everywhere,  _everything_. He knows he sounds wanton and he knows Harry loves it. He cries Harry’s name louder and is rewarded with a drawn-out moan from the other boy.

Harry brings his hands up to squeeze Louis’ nipples and Louis just  _folds_. He comes with a sharp cry and lies gasping against the worn seats. Harry comes, moaning, a moment later, as Louis’ muscles contract around him.

They lie there for a while, Louis turning around to wrap his arms around Harry and Harry snuggling into the embrace. Louis’ eyes slip closed, relaxing to the sound of Harry’s deep, steady breaths. Harry noses Louis’ lips and Louis presses a kiss to his forehead, pulling him closer; closest.

The radio finally catches upon some form of life out there, and a quiet but obnoxiously happy song murmurs into the warming car. Louis wants to laugh, or break it.

Harry stirs and cracks his eyes open, looking up to peer at the storm outside. It looks to be clearing up, maybe; the world around just slightly more visible than it had been before. “Odd sort of weather we’re having today, isn’t it?” he remarks.

Louis shuts him up with a waffle to the face.


	4. The Other Diaries

**Title:** The Other Diaries

 **Summary:**  Liam keeps a diary.

Day 1

It’s the first night in the X Factor House, and I’m sharing a room with the rest of One Direction. I wanted to practise our performance this morning, but no one else wanted to. They were eating breakfast. I’d already had mine. I went outside to look at the ducks.

Niall is nice but he eats a lot of food. I’m getting used to seeing food everywhere. There is a sandwich on the windowsill at this very moment. I can see little ants in it. This is normality now.

Harry seems nice, but he doesn’t wear much. He sat on my pillow naked and didn’t apologise until Louis elbowed him. When he did apologise, he didn’t seem very sorry. He was laughing. I swapped my pillow with Wagner’s. Nobody saw.

Harry’s weird.

Louis says I’m too serious. Louis says a lot of things. Most of them don’t make any sense. I’m not too serious. I’m just the right amount of serious. My friends think I’m amiable and funny, but I don’t think I’ve made any friends here. Except for maybe Zayn.

Zayn is cool. He’s quiet and kind. I think he smokes weed, but I don’t want to ask in case that’s rude. Is that rude? I don’t want to find out. I won’t ask.

Harry just got out of the shower. He’s asking me what I’m typing. He’s tryifchgvng to ssee;;. Louis just came in. Louis’ biting Harry on the shoulder. I hope he doesn’t bite too hard and pierce the skin. Then Harry would need medical attention and possibly recovery time, and we can’t really afford that.

Day 2

I think Louis might be a cannibal. He bites Harry far too often for it to be normal. He also seems to have a foot fetish. He wears no socks and he’s constantly putting his feet on things. Very suspicious.

Zayn offered me some weed cookies today. I didn’t know what they were at first, because I didn’t understand why he kept winking at me. I thought he was coming onto me. Cher came in just in time and smacked the cookie out of my hand when she realised. Cher is nice. I like Cher.

I’ve sort of been avoiding Zayn since then. I think he feels bad about it, too. He keeps looking at me with wide, sad eyes. He’s very pretty, actually. But thing are a little bit awkward now. I don’t know what to do.

Niall ate all of Zayn’s cookies. I told him what they were and he paused for a moment, but then he just shrugged and kept eating. Niall is very laid-back. Zayn and Niall get along fine.

I’m in bed now. Louis just ‘stole my nose.’ I know it’s a game for little children, but. It might also be an inside cannibal joke, mightn’t it?

I’m scared to fall asleep.

Day 3

This morning Harry was practising martial arts. I guess it might come in handy when he’s trying to fend off eleven-year-old fangirls. I can’t see it helping him much with anyone else. He’s a bit like a kitten. Please don’t tell anyone I said that. I know you won’t, but still.

I don’t think Louis likes me much. He yelled in my ear today. Maybe he didn’t mean to yell, but it was still painful. I think he was preparing my ears so they’d be easier to digest later. That sounds odd, but cannibals are an odd bunch. I decided to cut to the chase, and I asked him if he was a cannibal. He looked hurt and walked away.

I mean, I wouldn’t judge him if he  _were_  a cannibal. Tolerance is the foundation of harmony, after all.

Day 4

Louis isn’t a cannibal. Harry told me so. He seemed a bit annoyed with me, which wasn’t very fair. It was only prudent to ask. We need to get these things out in the open, if we’re going to be a band.

Zayn and I are alright now, though. We all went down to the local pool, and Zayn confessed to me that he couldn’t swim. I held his hand while we went in the water. We ended up having a great time. Niall jumped into the pool and made an enormous splash. Zayn said it was very metaphorical. For Niall’s personality, that is. I know what he means. I’m glad Niall and Zayn are in the band.

We’re all getting ready for bed now. Harry keeps making cat noises. I wonder if that means he’s read this. Goodness, I hope he hasn’t read this. He can’t have, though. It’s password-protected. Bad things can’t happen to things that are password-protected.

Can they?

Day 5

At times like these I wish I was a real fireman. Louis mightn’t be a cannibal, but he’s almost definitely an arsonist. Cher’s Hello Kitty bag caught fire in the rehearsal room while Louis was the only one there. He said that he smelled smoke and came in to put it out just seconds before we did, but I’m not so sure. Either way, Harry is mad at me again.

Cher cried and got mascara everywhere. Literally everywhere. There is mascara falling out of my ears. Mascara in-between Niall’s toes. I didn’t know there was so much mascara in the world.

Also, Zayn kicked me in the face while we were in the pool today. He didn’t mean to, and he said he was really sorry. Niall laughed for hours. Niall won’t tell me what a  _craic_  is, but I think he thinks I am one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I actually like the style of this one. Idk, I might try to do something with this style later on.


	5. I'd Look Better By Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... this one is smutty too. And also a crackship. Hmm.

**Title:** I'd Look Better By Your Side

 **Summary:**  Harry is like a city, his warmth and sociability attracting friends like fireflies until he’s on the bus, leaving again. Eleanor isn’t sure what she is but she fits almost everywhere; blends into peoples’ stories like coffee on the tip of her tongue.

-

Eleanor hates New York because it’s heavy with sadness, painted like secrets under graffiti on the city walls. She hates it because she knows things that girls like her learn early. She’s seen how sadness chokes a person. Even a person who should always be smiling.

They’re the ones who choke the fastest.

Harry isn’t one of those people. She can see it in the line of his back; can hear it wrapped in the rasp of his voice. He’s still bobbing along, because he knows this; because he can. Eleanor can, too.

She slides over next to him at the bar though. Because even though she knows he’s fine without her, it’s still nice to share body warmth in the wrong drizzly city; the wrong kind of cold.

Harry’s staring at the alcohol in his glass. Not touching; not tasting. He takes a slow breath and, after a moment, he speaks. “Does it get any easier?”

She tilts her head inquiringly. “Does what get easier?”

He gestures uselessly with his hands. “Pretending, you know. To love someone you don’t love.”

She doesn’t really get the question. Pretending to love people is the easiest thing she knows.

So she shrugs. “Depends. I’m kind of good at pretending.”

Harry nods. “I’m not.”

It’s silent for a while after that. Or at least, it’s what passes for silence, for them. The white noise of the bar is oddly soothing for the ringing in their ears.

After a minute or so, Harry abruptly stands up. He grabs his keys and wallet off the bench. “I’ve got to get out of here. I still smell like her – fuck. This can’t be fucking perfume.”

Eleanor takes a whiff of him and giggles. “Why? It’s nice.”

Harry rolls his eyes. He’s not completely sober, maybe. “Nice for a Christmas tree farm, or like American baseball or some shit –”

Eleanor laughs out loud and grabs his arm. She glances around the bar to make sure no one’s heard them. “Shush. Let’s go.”

“Nice for a fucking seal,” Harry mutters under his breath, but doesn’t protest as Eleanor pulls him out of the bar.

-

They’re in a back alley and it’s the kind of seedy place that Louis would wrinkle his nose at; the kind of place that would make him whine. But Louis’ safe in the hotel room with Liam tonight. Harry seems to have no qualms about the alley, leaning back against the cement wall with a sigh.

He closes his eyes for so long that Eleanor wonders if he’s falling asleep. She tugs his arm. “You can’t just stay here.”

“I want to.”

“Well you can’t.”

He opens his eyes to gaze at her with surprising focus. They’re startlingly clear and green, even in his current inebriated state. “You’re kind of annoying.”

Eleanor sighs long-sufferingly. “Likewise, Harry.”

He smirks. “Can I get in your pants?”

He never falters in asking the question, and she never bats an eye in receiving it. She smirks right back, the mimicry perfect. “Can I be in your band?”

“Well, no.”

Eleanor snorts, blowing a string of hair out of her face as she does so. “Then it’s lucky I don’t like your band, anyway,” she retorts, and Harry actually looks a little hurt.

“Liar,” he whispers, as Eleanor unbuttons his jeans.

Harry’s moans are drawn-out and low, just like his speech. Eleanor thinks it fits New York, even if most of Harry doesn’t.  _This_  Harry is New York all over, moaning like sin with rain in his curls and bits of the city clinging to his clothes. The city is Harry, too, for a week or a month or a day. It  _becomes_ him, printing his face on the posters and in the magazines; playing his voice on the radio, selling his concert tickets in booths and on the streets. Eleanor sweeps her fingers deftly over him, trailing kisses down his skin.

Harry has the power to make entire cities his own, if only for a little while. Eleanor simply drifts, and therein lays their difference.

Harry comes hard and Eleanor pulls away, letting his come fall into the snow. Harry’s laughing and he pulls her upwards, hands entwining her slender fingers with his. “Your turn,” he explains, ducking down to return the favour.

Eleanor runs her hands through the strands of his hair until she’s clutching them, gasping softly while Harry does his best to make her moan. His tongue is slow. Everything about Harry is soft and strong and slow. It’s too warm, and eventually she spills against him with a small cry. Harry pulls away, looking triumphant.

He stands up too slowly so Eleanor helps him in the process, sliding her arm around his drunken waist and cosying into his side. “Where to now?” Harry murmurs into her ear.

Eleanor actually has to pause to think about that. “I – ah!” She cuts herself off with a shriek and darts out and away from the alley.

Harry’s laughing again. “What?” he questions, following her out into the street.

“Geez. Fuck. There was a mouse,” she complains. “Fuck everything.” Eleanor’s voice might be soft as honey, but she can swear like no one else.

Harry stills his giggles behind his hand. “So?” he asks. “Where are we going?”

Eleanor purses her lips, deliberating. “Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” she replies, slipping her arm around his elbow and nudging him along through the sleet, streetlights and snow.


	6. Look After You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actual trigger warning for this one because there's suicidal stuff and death stuff. So please don't read if there's any chance that that could be triggering for you.

**Title:** Look After You

 **Summary:**  Harry Styles doesn’t believe in much, and he certainly doesn't believe in guardian angels. They are tales for children, and have no place in his stark grey reality. But when the depressed pop star meets eccentric, enigmatic Louis Tomlinson, his entire world begins to change.

Louis Tomlinson is a name connected only to tragedy – torn from his life at eighteen years; he has spent every moment since then protecting Harry Styles, a boy he never got the chance to meet. When Harry begins to fall apart before Louis’ eyes, he will risk everything,  _everything_  for love. 

**_-_ **

Harry closed his eyes. Hundreds of feet beneath him, the streets of London were roaring with life. But up here, all was oddly quiet. If Heaven was real, he imagined it was a lonely place much like this one. Gales of wind blew past him relentlessly, but he barely felt them: all he felt was the iciness in his cheeks and hands, the hot blurring in his eyes and the leadenness in his heart. Small weeds poked out from the concrete here and there, but they appeared as lifeless as living things could be: barely growing, barely showing colour in this grey environment, they were caught in stasis.

Much like Harry himself.

Harry didn’t know exactly when the depression had started, or when he found himself identifying more with weeds in the concrete than people around him. He had tried to shake himself out of it at first. But it just became more of an effort – smiling got harder and harder, happiness became as alien as the stars that dotted the smog-tinted sky, and somehow the boy with unruly curls and bright green eyes had drifted away.

But it was ending tonight. He was going to break himself out of this mental prison – the harshest of all prisons – once and for all. It felt permanent, and right. Harry bit his tongue and told himself to stop crying – it was silly to cry when he had finally reached this summit; when he was here to rid himself of the demons that had haunted him for so long. He was shaking gently and trying to catch his breath. He wanted to be calm before it happened. He stood there at the top of the tallest building in London, with every intention of plummeting to the bottom of it.

Harry’s body relaxed and his mind went empty. He felt light; lighter than air. He lifted one sneakered foot and stepped up onto the ledge, placing his other foot neatly next to it. His family would manage without him. The band would manage without him. He stared down at the people and cars far below him, and wondered vaguely if he should be reflecting on how tiny they all seemed from way up here. But all he could think about was how little he cared.

Harry took a deep, steady breath, taking one last look at the world before he let his eyes fall closed. Everything slowed down then. He felt as if he could hear everything – every sound in all of London, maybe in all of England. But for some inexplicable reason, his ears settled on one sound and one sound alone.

Someone was singing to him.

Harry’s eyes shot open. He was frozen in place, not daring to move. He had been certain that he was alone coming up here, but this voice seemed to be singing to him from right behind his ear. It was gentle, and so very sweet. There were no words that Harry could understand, just pretty notes, drifting lullingly through the freezing night air.

“Who’s there?” Harry whispered, suddenly terrified. He didn’t know why he should be terrified – he had come here to die, after all.

 _‘Don’t do it,’_  the same voice whispered to him, though now he wasn’t sure whether he could really hear the voice or whether it was coming from inside his head.

“…What?” Harry said stupidly. He was at a loss for what else to say.

The voice spoke to him soothingly, but he could detect layers of anxiety and upset.  _‘Please, just step back from the ledge,’_  the voice insisted, again intruding inside his skull.

“I’m…”

_‘Everything’s going to be alright, I promise.’_

And that was when Harry broke. The bravado he’d been keeping up for no one but himself, the strength and determination that Harry had convinced himself he had enough of to make this one final decision – it was all snatched away from him in an instant. His legs were no longer strong enough to hold him and he crumpled, plopping down on the unsafe ledge and gripping it with shaking hands. “How? How can you know that?” he sobbed out, his throat becoming unbearably painful as tears overwhelmed him. “How?” he demanded again when there was no immediate answer, his voice sounding loudly and addressing no one in particular. No one he could see, at least.

Comfort settled around his shoulders as if someone was touching him, but there were no hands there. Harry clenched his eyes tightly and let the sobs just roll out, wave after wave of deep, wracking wails that he could no longer contain. He sniffed unceremoniously and wiped his eyes, turning his head to gaze up at the black sky. He didn’t care if he was being clichéd – this was his last of anything here, this was his lifeline. It was the last little bit of energy that he had.

“Please,” he croaked out, voice cracking in various places. “Please, if there’s anyone out there… anyone who is watching or listening, or who cares… please, show yourself to me? I’m at breaking point here, and I’m sick of feeling so alone.” His words got wobblier and scratchier as he went, but he managed to choke them all out. He heaved a few more sobs, placing his hands on his face as if he could somehow hold himself together that way.

The voice was behind him, as startling and real as electricity. “I’m right here.” And Harry’s answer was as simple as turning around.

Harry suddenly became extremely dizzy. Later, he wouldn’t be sure if what happened next was real or not. He clutched his hands to his forehead in reaction to the dizziness, and strong hands were around him, pulling him back from the ledge. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, mate. You’re safe. Come back from there, that’s the way. I’m here; it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.” The person uttered soft reassurances in Harry’s ear as he tugged him back from the ledge and to safety. Even when they were away from the edge, he kept running his hands over Harry in an attempt to console him.

Harry stared at the stranger before him. He was a young man, looking about Harry’s age. His eyes were kind and impossibly blue, gazing at Harry with happiness, or sadness, or both. Harry thought he could see summer skies if he stared at them for long enough. But he broke his gaze away to look at the sad smile that played on his rescuer’s lips and the odd pallor in his cheeks.

No. Not pallor exactly… but it was odd. It might have been due to Harry’s poor vision at present, but this boy seemed somehow transparent, as if he was hardly there at all.

“Wh-who are you?” Harry asked bewilderedly, still reeling with dizziness.

The boy grinned. “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson. I’ve been watching you for a while,” he said softly.

Harry closed his eyes. “Oh.” This boy was being cryptic, but he couldn’t muster the energy to press him for answers. He leaned into Louis’ strong arms, and Louis didn’t seem to mind. “Will you stay with me?” he asked, not caring that it was a childish request. He opened his eyes and looked up at Louis.

The blue-eyed boy smiled easily. “’Course,” he said in a bright voice; one that made Harry feel safe and reassured. “I’m going to be around, from now on. I will.”

Louis’ sweet, airy tone was making Harry feel exhausted. His head dipped and he thought he might nod off. Louis shook him gently. “Don’t fall asleep, mate. You might catch a cold. You’d better head home for tonight, okay?”

“But…” Harry tried to protest, eyes flickering open.

Louis shook his head. “Don’t argue. You’re going to see me again real soon, okay?”

Harry rubbed his face. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. He wanted to believe Louis, though. There was something about him that Harry instinctively trusted.

Louis smiled and nodded to himself. “Good.” He stared at the still dazed boy in his arms for a moment, and made an instantaneous decision. He’d been making a lot of those tonight.

Louis quickly moved his head forward and pressed his lips against Harry’s. The boy started as if he’d been doused with icy water, but didn’t pull away. His lips conformed softly to Louis’, willing to go with anything he did or said at that moment. Louis ran his fingers through Harry’s curls and pulled gently back. He once again offered Harry that playful smile. “Go home. Sleep. I promise that when you wake up, everything will be different.”

Harry nodded numbly. Louis moved forward and pressed his forehead against Harry’s. Harry’s eyes fell closed automatically. “Everything is going to be alright, Harry. You’ll see,” Louis whispered.

When Harry opened his eyes, Louis was gone.

-

It had been a week.

A week since that night when Harry had nearly released his hold on everything.

A week since he’d come home in the wintry dark to find Liam, who’d been worried sick, and had been lectured harshly and embraced tightly by the other boy.

A week since he’d dismissed the boy on the rooftop as a dream; a hallucination that his mind had fabricated to save itself.

Nevertheless, that night he had slept better than he had in months. Maybe even years.

Now, Harry muffled a yawn as his eyes were tickled by soft morning light. He slowly opened them. Things were the same, really. But he felt well-rested and just slightly better than he had a week before.

Harry stumbled out of bed, tugging on some fresh clothes and dragging a hand through his shaggy hair before he made his way out into the kitchen. Zayn, Niall and Liam had already let themselves into his apartment, as they did most mornings. The smell of frying eggs and chopped herbs wafted towards Harry’s nose. He yawned again and rubbed his eyes, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Morning!” Niall chirped, flinging an arm around Harry and making room for Zayn to follow suit. Harry mumbled a response as the two boys smothered him, mainly because he knew they would be upset if he didn’t. Liam turned around from where he stood at the stove and beamed at Harry, and the younger boy felt a pang of guilt at all the things that must have been concealed behind that smile. He hated worrying his friends, he really did.

He cleared his throat, deciding to speak up a bit. “Uh… whatcha making?” he asked Liam a trifle awkwardly, because he knew full well that he was making eggs.

“Omelette!” Liam said proudly. Harry almost chuckled – Liam’s enthusiasm for cooking was endearing, and it was useful considering Harry had lost motivation for it some time ago. Liam wasn’t a  _chef_  in the sense that Harry was, but he enjoyed keeping them fed and looked after, and no one would protest to that. “Sounds great,” Harry said honestly.

“When’s it ready, Li?” Niall asked, and Zayn laughed.

Liam turned back to check his handiwork. “It’ll be another few minutes,” he replied. Niall sighed impatiently and sat uninvited on Harry’s lap. Harry grunted in surprise, and Zayn barked another laugh before he went to turn on the television. He stopped, however, when the phone rang beside him.

Zayn picked up the phone. “Hello?” he asked. He was silent for a moment, raising his eyebrows before knotting them together comically. Finally he said, “Yeah? …Yeah. Orright, man, we’ll be there in a few.” Zayn put down the receiver and shrugged at the questioning expressions of the other boys. “Management wants to have a meeting with us, like, now.”

Niall was adamant that they eat breakfast before going to meet management. But fifteen minutes later, once their stomachs had been filled, they were shuffling out the door.

-

The meeting was short and sweet, as management had decided to cut to the chase. When the boys had tumbled through the doors of the office, their current manager, a short red-haired woman named Sally, had given them a disapproving look before launching into an explanation of why they’d been called there. She explained – with a pointed look at Harry – that their performances had been less coherent and less ‘energised’ lately. She said that as a group, they were starting to sound weaker and weaker. She told them that due to their young age it was only to be expected that they slip up a little now and then, but they were elite performers and too much of this could simply not be afforded.

And then she paused, looking at each of them one by one. “This is why,” she said slowly, as if they would be too idiotic to understand her otherwise, “We feel that it would be best to give you guys a little bit more backing, a bit more strength. This decision works well for the company as well as for the band.

“One Direction, I’d like to inform you that as of today you have a new member.”

_You have a new member._

Harry’s good mood evaporated in an instant. How could management possibly be so  _stupid_  as to think they would want – or need – a new member? It was ridiculous. They had been friends for years. How was throwing a stranger into the mix going to help? Harry couldn’t adjust to someone new right now. He couldn’t. He pressed his lips together in an angry line and ignored the concerned glance Liam threw him, deciding instead to focus on the carpet. His own opinion didn’t matter; the other boys would voice his concerns.

Sure enough, Niall exclaimed loudly, “A new member?!” He was frowning in displeasure, and practically jumping up and down. Dismay was written all over Zayn’s face as well, and the darker boy echoed the blonde’s appeals. They both started raising all the negative points to this decision, almost in unison. Sally hushed them with a scowl.

“This decision is final. Arguing won’t get you anywhere,” she said sternly.

Liam was pinching the bridge of his nose. Tiredness showed on his young face. “When will we be meeting this fifth member?” he said finally.

Sally looked satisfied. “Right now,” she said, her expression oddly resembling a vulture. “He’s in the next room. Shall I bring him in?”

That surprised them – they hadn’t realised they’d be meeting him right then. Niall shrugged, and Zayn tucked his hands into his pockets resolutely.

“Wait,” Harry said, speaking up for the first time during the meeting as a wave of fear swept over him. He glanced unsurely at Liam, who met his gaze.  _I know,_  his brown eyes seemed to be saying.  _But what choice do we have?_

Harry tugged his sleeves over his hands. Maybe Liam didn’t have the answers, but just knowing he was there was reassurance enough.

Sally glanced between Liam and Harry, until Liam nodded. “Smile, boys,” Liam said, planting a smile on his own face. “Might as well make him feel welcome.”

Sally’s face settled into her favourite half-smirk, half-scowl as she opened a blue-painted door, and in walked Louis Tomlinson.

-

On first glance, Louis was… perfect. Perfect for a boy band, to be precise. His skin had a golden glow, his eyes were dazzlingly blue and his smile was so sweet that one’s teeth might have hurt just looking at him. His features were delicate and feminine. Liam’s lips pursed in understanding, Zayn resisted the urge to scoff and Niall thought to himself,  _‘Bullshit. Make our sound stronger? They just wanted a pretty boy.’_

But Harry only stared.

His mind and heart were racing – against each other, it seemed – as he thought back to that night on the roof. He had convinced himself that he had imagined his rescuer, but the boy from that dizzying dream was standing right in front of him.  _Louis Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson._  He existed. He was real. He was there. He was glancing around at each of them, and it might have been his imagination, but it seemed as if his gaze settled just a little longer on Harry.

That blue gaze revealed nothing; no sign of recognition. But Harry found himself almost leaning towards Louis. His breath was shaking with something other than nerves. He simply felt drawn to him.

Louis grinned widely at the group as a whole, revealing a perfect set of pearly whites. “Well, boys,” he announced brightly, “Looks like I’m your new best friend! Don’t worry, I’ll try not to steal  _too_  much of the show.”

That was when Niall scowled, Zayn gasped, and Liam – who had up until that point tried to approach this in as friendly and open-minded a way as possible – glowered in dark rage. This would not, they realised, be anywhere near as easy as they hoped it would be.

Louis Tomlinson, they realised, was an arrogant jerk.

-

“I hate him,” Niall declared the moment they stepped into Harry’s apartment. Harry shrugged off his jacket and hung it up, remaining quiet.

Liam sighed. “We have to give him a chance,” he began half-heartedly.

“ _You_  hate him,” Zayn pointed out. Niall laughed and offered him a high-five that Zayn triumphantly accepted, even though it hadn’t been that funny. Zayn showed them the caricature he’d been working on in the car. It featured Louis looking quite awful, with lines on his face, a mad glint in his eyes and an extremely exaggerated butt. It took Harry a moment to realise that the Louis in the picture was using his shapely butt as a rowboat, and his striped sailor shirt added to the silly effect.

This didn’t make sense to Harry. “Wouldn’t he sink that way?” he asked, and Zayn grinned wickedly.

“Oh, yeah! Thanks, ‘Arreh,” he exclaimed, adding a few lines to the picture so that Louis was sinking underwater.

Liam gave up. He flopped on the lounge in defeat, dropping his forearm over his eyes. “I dislike him, yes. But this is our job, so we’re just going to have to suck it up.”

Niall quelled his laughter and went to sit beside him. “Don’t fret, Li. We’ll make an effort, won’t we, lads?” Harry and Zayn murmured their agreement.

Zayn flopped down in an armchair and watched Harry curiously as the younger boy sat across from him. “Say, what do you think of all this? You haven’t said a word.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably under the three gazes that were suddenly upon him. “I… don’t know. I think he’s alright.” he said finally.

Niall’s jaw dropped open. “Alright?”

“Alright.”

“Let me get this straight, you think he’s alright?”

“That’s what I said.”

“You think Louis Tomlinson,  _the_  Louis Tomlinson, is alright?”

“Damn it, Niall, I think he’s alright!”

Harry immediately clamped his hands over his mouth after he snapped, but Niall only laughed. “Okay, okay. Whatever floats your boat, man,” he cackled, doubling over and squashing Liam.

“Or sinks it,” Zayn added, holding up his caricature.

“Or sinks it.”

-

Management had ordered that they make plans to spend the afternoon with Louis, so they could get to know each other. Niall had suggested Nando’s, and Louis had laughed far too loudly. Louis had suggested golf, and Zayn had suggested that Louis “Take his golf club and shove it up his arse.” Finally, Harry had suggested bowling and Liam had quickly agreed.

So now they were changing their shoes in the bowling alley and trying to get acquainted with Louis Tomlinson.

Harry sat awkwardly on a bench, trying to get his fingers to work enough to untangle the knotted laces of the bowling shoes he’d been given at the counter. He had been gripped with nerves ever since they had met up with Louis out in the quickly darkening street, and it was fairly obvious that the breathtaking new member was the cause. Head down, Harry glanced from behind his fringe at the boy. Louis was sitting some distance away from Harry, on the same bench as Niall. Harry couldn’t help but watch him. He was… graceful. Even though he was currently chatting incessantly in an obvious attempt to annoy Niall, there was something ethereal about his movements, something simply  _perfect_. Niall was currently trying to ignore Louis’ odd remarks. Liam and Zayn were seated on another bench. Liam’s face was set in a determined grimace, and Zayn was making no effort to hide his boredom or displeasure. As Harry watched, Louis turned his head around and his gaze quickly settled on  _him_.

Harry felt his heart thud in his chest, and he couldn’t seem to take in a breath. Louis stood and made his way over to Harry, settling comfortably next to him. Knees turned in Harry’s direction; he said gently, “Do you want some help there?”

Harry saw Liam raise an eyebrow, and he felt his own face burning. It took him a moment to realise that Louis was talking about the shoelaces, which he had just about given up on. “N- Yeah,” he said, shaking his head before quickly nodding. He thrust the shoes in Louis’ direction.  _What is wrong with you?_  Harry was shouting at himself inside his head as Louis reached out and took the shoes from Harry’s hands, accidentally brushing the green-eyed boy’s fingers in the process. Harry jerked his hands away.

“Sorry about that,” Louis said easily, smiling up at Harry. Harry hadn’t disliked the touch – quite the opposite, actually. His fingers were tingling from it.

Harry shook his head. “Err – it’s okay,” he said, wondering how Louis was able to make him this nervous. He was sure he looked like an idiot.

“There you go,” Louis said softly, handing the shoes back to Harry. Then he beamed. “Let’s go and have some fun, yeah?”

Harry gawked for a moment, and nodded. He held Louis’ gaze for just a second, and fanciful as it sounded, he was positive he hadn’t merely dreamed Louis now. There was no way he could have imagined that brilliant blue.

-

Harry finished putting on his shoes, and Zayn waltzed over. Louis grinned up at him. “Zaynie!”

Zayn ignored the unwanted nickname and looked at Harry. “We’re going to get started now. Are you guys ready?”

Harry nodded, standing up slowly. “Yeah. Ready.”

Louis was smiling from ear to ear. He grabbed hold of Harry’s elbow and tugged him along, Zayn muffling a snort at the sudden bewilderment on Harry’s face.

They joined Liam and Niall, who were already at the aisle getting ready to play. Niall was looking a little irritated. Louis let go of Harry and squeezed himself in between the two boys. “Don’t worry, Niall, there’s a Nando’s just across the street.”

Niall flushed, and Zayn, Liam and Harry exchanged looks. ‘ _Is this guy for real?’_  they all seemed to say. But Louis had already released Liam and Niall, and was making his way over to pick out a bowling ball. He examined three different ones, apparently deeming them all dissatisfactory, and moved on to a fourth. He hummed  _What Makes You Beautiful_  as he turned it over in his hands, pausing and closing his eyes as he got to the end of the chorus.

Finally, Liam sighed and strode over to Louis. “Look, we haven’t got all day –”

Harry watched in shock and awe as Louis dropped his ball, gave Liam the most offended look he had ever seen, and slapped him hard across the face.

“A queen takes her time, Liam!” Louis exclaimed loudly. Several other people in the bowling alley turned and stared. Louis paid them no heed, but haughtily went back to choosing a bowling ball.

Liam looked stunned. Utterly and completely stunned. Zayn’s mouth was hanging slightly ajar, and Niall approached Liam to shake his shoulder. “You alright, buddy?” he was asking, but Harry lost focus on that when he heard someone laughing, and realised a moment later that that someone was him.

Harry found himself almost doubled over in laughter. His sides were hurting, tears were blurring his eyes, and his face was beginning to cramp. He couldn’t actually  _remember_  the last time he had laughed like this. He didn’t really know why he was laughing so hard, either – it wasn’t even that funny. But despite the fact that Zayn was staring at him like a mental patient and Liam looked ready to stretch out his wings, breathe fire and go terrorise some villagers, Harry was laughing.

Niall joined in seconds later, chortling in spite of himself as he rubbed circles on Liam’s back. Liam turned to gape at him, eyes aghast. “Did he just  _slap_  me?” he finally said, causing Harry to laugh harder. Liam looked at Louis. “I can’t believe you just  _slapped_  me!” he exclaimed, scandalised.

Louis smiled happily, having found a bowling ball he liked. “Don’t dawdle, Liam,” he scolded lightly, patting him gently on the cheek where he’d slapped him moments earlier. “Really, we haven’t got all day.” Louis weighed the ball in his hands and walked over to the aisle’s end, winking cheekily at Harry as he went.

Liam looked ready to cry.

-

“Louis, that’s the wrong key.”

The five members of One Direction were in their rehearsal room, and Liam was sitting at the piano with an expression of forced patience. The four original members had known Louis for a week now – and in the course of that week they’d seen him break a bowling alley, receive several driving tickets, lose Niall’s work visa, and almost set Liam’s lampshade on fire. Their management team and most of the band were at their wit’s end with him.

Harry, though, thought he was brilliant.

Louis gave Liam a sunny smile. “Sorry! I’ll get it right next time.”

Liam nodded, pressed his lips together and played the verse again. Louis launched into his line. He started off well, but when he fumbled over the ending Liam groaned.

“Sorry!” Louis piped. The smile never left his face.

Liam sighed. “It’s fine. I think we should take a breather. Five minutes, guys?” He stood up and stretched out his legs.

Niall rolled his eyes, but nodded and hopped up from his seat. Harry followed suit. Zayn, quirked an angry eyebrow at Louis. “No. Why should we take a breather? If he wasn’t here we wouldn’t need to. This is stupid.”

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Zayn –”

“No!  _Listen_ to me, Liam. This whole thing is a terrible idea. It’s ridiculous. We shouldn’t be taking it. If we just marched up to Sally and put our foot down about it we wouldn’t have to deal with any of this.” Zayn glared at Liam challengingly. After a terse moment, Niall mumbled his agreement with Zayn.

Liam’s eyes were wide and his expression uncomfortable. Harry had backed up against the wall, trying to fade out somehow; camouflage himself so he wouldn’t have to face the situation. He watched Louis, whose expression had slipped from cheery innocence to something more guarded, but still just as non-threatening.

Silence stretched taut through the air for a moment, until Louis hesitantly cleared his throat. “I’m getting the hang of it,” he addressed Zayn quietly. “If you give it some more time, I think this could work –”

“Leave this discussion to us, yeah?” Zayn snapped; his temper hanging by a thread. “You don’t belong here.”

Louis paled at that. He stepped back from Zayn as if the boy had delivered a physical blow, his eyes widening and shoulders beginning shake. He almost appeared frightened, and the strangeness of his reaction had Zayn feeling sheepish within seconds. “Look, Louis,” he began, but before he could finish Louis gave a breathless little nod and darted out of the room.

Harry observed the surprise on his friends’ faces, and for a split second he felt really, truly angry. The emotion burned through him like a lightning bolt, and that moment of fury was enough to have him stepping away from the wall and snarling heatedly at Zayn.

“I don’t believe you.  _All_  of you,” Harry growled, encompassing Liam and Niall in his glare and watching their expressions melt from surprise into pure shock. “I don’t know who decided Louis should be here with us, or why. But if there was anyone likely to be open to the idea, I’d have thought it would’ve been you three. And regardless of whether you like it or not, it’s no justification for treating him like that. We’re supposed to be professionals, yeah?”

Before any of the now regretful boys could think of a response to Harry’s impassioned outburst, he turned from the room and paced down the hallway, wondering where Louis had disappeared to.

 **A/N:** I also didn't finish this one, sorry.


	7. In the Holy Wall of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for violence and depression references for this chapter.  
> This is another unfinished fic, why am I like this

**Title:** In the Holy Wall of Fire

 **Summary:**  In which Louis would risk his life for Harry over and over and over again.

 

-

They were at a Saturday morning meet and greet; the kind that had Louis’ head pounding and his jaw clenching tight before he’d even opened his eyes that morning. As always, Harry and Liam had turned to bouncing sunshine in the attention of the adoring crowd. Zayn was joking around with the fans, and even Niall was able to relax once he was given an appropriate amount of space. But Louis just didn’t like this.

Harry kept his hand on Louis’ arm, sensing the older boy’s mood and hoping to ease some of the tension in his body. Although his touch was calming, Louis sort of hated that his band-mate thought he was skittish enough that it was necessary. He hated the way their bodyguards side-eyed him like he was a flighty animal; the screams and the strangers’ hands and the way people stared at him as if he were a creature in a zoo. He hated how a nearby photographer slyly brushed against his ass in passing, and how a fan shrieked in his ear when he was right fucking there. He hated the rude comments the fans made when they thought he was out of earshot – and he especially hated the ones they made when they knew perfectly well that he wasn’t.

But more than anything, he hated the feeling of complete isolation. He hated that amidst all these sweating bodies and clashing stories, even in this swell of life as viscous; as pulsing and bright as lava swirling in a volcano, he felt alone. He was stranded on a sinking raft, calling out into a stormy grey ocean until his throat was empty with the effort and even with all the eyes that were upon him, no one could  _see_. No one except Harry, maybe. Harry’s touch was a lifeline, and though Louis didn’t lean into it for fear of the vultures that may have been watching, in his mind he was burning his hands with how desperately he grasped at that rope. And maybe the birds were encircling him, ready to pick his bones from the sea. But as long as he held on to Harry, he was safe.

“Louis, Louis! Look this way!” Louis did as he was told, smiling at the photographer that brushed against him earlier. The man’s camera flashed once, twice, three times before Louis looked away, greeting a fan that jumped on him as she yelled her twitter handle in his ear.

“Follow me!” she urged before she bounded off towards Zayn. Louis agreed, even though he’d already forgotten what she’d said.

Harry’s hand left him suddenly, and Louis looked around to see his friend being pulled away by the tumultuous crowd. Harry caught his gaze and smiled apologetically. Louis shrugged and smiled back.  _It’s fine._  Harry nodded. A beefy reporter grabbed Harry’s face and pulled him towards a camera. Louis’ temper flared at that, until he saw Niall shoving crisps down the reporter’s pants. Niall winked at him. Louis grinned approvingly, and allowed his attention to be pulled away by a group of excited preteens. The meet and greet went on.

Louis saw him before the others did. He was heading for Harry, who was posing with a woman and her little girl, smiling sweetly for the cameras. Harry stood several feet away from Louis, kept apart from him by the crowd. The man was muttering under his breath and his eyes were manic; his teeth grey and gnarled as he chattered furiously in a conversation no one else could hear. Louis saw five cameras flash at once. He saw a woman’s string of pearls on a white, white neck and a green umbrella that lay forgotten on the ground. He was pushing towards Harry before he even saw  _it_. When he did, his blood ran cold.

The man reached into his overcoat and pulled out a knife.

It was the flash of steel in the camera light that tipped Louis off. Something he would later identify as adrenalin rushed through his veins, and before he could fully grasp the situation he was shoving fans aside and stumbling through the crowd. He was acting on pure instinct. Right now, nothing existed except Harry, the knife and the most tangible part of Louis – the part that would never let Harry be harmed.

The knife shot forward. He reached Harry’s slender wrist and pushed Harry back, standing protectively in front of him. He caught one glimpse of Harry’s eyes, green and questioning, before the blade nestled into his own skin.

For a moment, Louis felt as if he was seeing the scene from another angle. His vision doubled and he could see the colour draining from his own face as he gaped at the attacker in shock.  He could see the blood blossoming through his shirt, the hands already slick with it as he pressed them over the wound on his abdomen. He saw his shoulders bending in upon himself, slightly, and he saw his body waver before he fell backwards into Harry’s confused arms.

“Louis? Lou!” And then it was the world around Louis that was draining of colour. Panic flooded Harry’s voice as he finally saw what had happened; what was  _happening_. He tore off his jumper and pressed it against Louis’ wound in an effort to staunch the blood. “Help! Call an ambulance!  _Help!_ ” He sounded borderline hysterical. Louis wished he wouldn’t.

Louis gazed dazedly up him, trying to reach a hand to his face. “It’s okay,” he murmured, causing Harry to stare at him wide-eyed for a moment before the younger boy was looking away. He was talking quickly to someone else, but Louis couldn’t make out the words.

Louis had always wondered if death would be painless. It wasn’t. It was so,  _so_  painful. Louis thought he would be screaming if he had any air left in his lungs; if he had any energy left to breathe. His vision swam as he searched for Harry’s hand and found it. Harry clutched his hand tightly; something wet falling between them that Louis didn’t think was blood. He wondered if maybe he wanted this. And suddenly, he was too tired to fight it. Slipping away would be easier than the pain.

When Louis was young, he’d heard a piece of advice somewhere:  _Live your life so that when you die, the people around you are crying and you are smiling._  He held onto that, searching his cloudy mind for a perfect memory and finding one. Harry laughing over breakfast as Louis stole a pancake from the stove; Harry tossing flour into Louis’ hair and earning a lick on the face as a result. His laughter had been loud and fresh and clear, just like that summer morning. Louis smiled. He released the rope; let go of the raft and let himself be swallowed under the waves. Harry was holding his hand, and that was okay.

-

Louis was in a hospital bed.

That much, his mind could register. The rest was a little blurry. He blinked in puzzlement at the white room around him, wondering why he had woken up in a _hospital_  of all places.

_Oh, right._

He’d been stabbed.

He’d been stabbed and… He couldn’t really remember much after that, although he had been fairly sure he was dying.

Louis’ eyes fell closed. Thinking was too much effort.

“Well, well. Simba, we thought you were dead.”

Louis’ eyes shot open. Voices that obnoxious didn’t belong to just anyone. He looked around and his eyes widened when, of all people, Nick Grimshaw came into focus. The radio DJ was sitting in a chair by Louis’ bed, his lips pursed together in amusement.

Louis raised an eyebrow. It was embarrassingly difficult to do. “Nick?” he croaked. “What are you…? I thought you were in England…”

Nick smiled. “Came over to America just for you, didn’t I? Harry practically  _begged_  me to, of course.” Louis was quiet for a moment. Nick patted him on the knee, and his eyes grew gentle. “You gave us quite a scare, love. For a while there we weren’t sure you’d make it.”

Louis scoffed. “Can’t get rid of me that easily,” he replied, but he paused to think about Nick’s words anyway. Nick seemed to understand that, because he let the silence stretch.

At length, Louis looked back up at him. “Where are they? Harry and the boys? Where’s my mum, can I see her?”

Nick’s smile fell, and his eyes grew sad. He paused, and then, “I’m sorry, Louis. Harry’s not here.”

Louis pushed himself up, frowning at Nick in confusion. “What? Where is he?”

Nick’s eyes were too solemn, too soft to look at. “He’s… you couldn’t save him, Louis.”

Louis shook his head. This was ridiculous. “What are you talking about?! I saved him.  _I_  took the knife. Harry was fine. He’s fine.” He scowled at Nick. “Where is Mum? I want to see her –”

“You can’t see her, Louis. You couldn’t save her, either. You couldn’t save any of them.”

Nick’s gaze was harsher now, and Louis just wanted to get out of this fucking hospital bed. “You’re sick. This is a joke. This is some crazy, joke, and it’s not appreciated, and I want you to leave and I want my  _mum_ –” He pushed himself upwards, but Nick grabbed his wrists and pinned him down.

“Don’t you get it? You can’t protect people, Louis, you can’t protect anyone –”

“Get off me! Nurse! Nurse!” Louis screeched, but his voice died in his throat. He watched on in horror as Nick’s face began to melt off his skull and his eyes darkened to a coal black. He opened his mouth and the stench that wafted out made Louis feel sick to his stomach. He struggled in Nick’s arms – if this even  _was_ Nick – and screamed out, feeling the man’s nails in his shoulders like blades through his flesh.

-

“Mr Tomlinson! Calm down!” A woman was gripping his arms as Louis cried and fought. He pushed her away, gasping for air. His eyes shot open and suddenly he was staring into the face of a young nurse. His skin was damp with sweat.

She smiled. “I’m Annika. I’m your nurse.”

He was so bewildered that he responded without thinking. “I’m Louis.”

It felt strange to be introducing himself to someone when he’d just seen his friend actually  _melt_. He caught his breath quietly as she talked on. “You’re okay; you just had a bad dream. The painkillers have that effect sometimes. I’m just going to get you some fresh sheets and talk to the doctor about lowering your dosage, okay? You lie back and relax.”

Louis nodded dumbly and did as she said, laying back upon the sweat-soaked bedding. He watched her leave; her blonde hair swishing and her reptilian tail dragging behind her.

Okay, no.

Whatever the heck was wrong with his medication, Louis was going to have to deal with it himself.

He climbed out of bed and followed her, wincing as he accidentally tugged the stitches on his abdomen. He stepped through the door of his hospital room, and gasped at the sight before him.

He wasn’t standing in a clean, white corridor. He was standing on the precarious edge of a cavernous, fiery pit that stretched out and down for what had to be miles. Red and orange light emanated from far below, and above there was no ceiling or sky – only dark rock. Louis looked out across the crevice and – what the  _fuck_  – dragon-like creatures were flying there, too far away to notice him.

Louis swayed and reached out for a boulder by his side. He pressed himself against it. This was too much.

An arm slung itself around his neck and pulled him back, cutting off his air.

Louis choked and spluttered, writhing against the wiry grip. Something sharp was pushed to his throat and Louis went still, understanding the silent threat.

His capturer pulled him into the shadows between two larger boulders, and only then was he spun around and examined. He was gazing at a young woman, probably his own age. Her hair was platinum blonde and her eyes were as fierce as the flames below. “What are you doing here?!” she hissed furiously, shaking him hard.

Louis couldn’t think. “I don’t know!” he shrieked in panic. “I don’t know; I don’t know what’s going on…”

She glanced down to where his hands were cradling his stomach and blood had soaked through his hospital gown. “Oh. It’s you.”

Louis blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah.” She offered no further explanation than that, but she played thoughtfully with an arrow in her hands before tucking it into a sheath on her back. She had a bow slung on her shoulder, and what appeared to be a full set of deadly-looking arrows. Louis brushed his fingers against his neck, where he realised an arrowhead had been. His eyes followed a trail of feathers that went up her arms and behind her shoulders, where it joined what looked like a pair of closed wings.

She grabbed his hands and pulled him along. Louis stumbled along behind her until she found a cave in the rock walls.

“In here.” She shoved him inside and stepped in after him.

Louis watched her questioningly. She took a stone out of her pocket, sat down and started sharpening her arrows as she spoke. Louis sat down in front of her.

“That blade you were stabbed with was designed to send its victim to the ninth circle of Hell. That’s where you are. Hell. I don’t know how you escaped – got lucky thanks to some inattentive bastard, is my guess – but they’ll be looking for you. They probably already are. So you’ve got to try very hard not to be  _stupid_.”

Louis rolled his eyes as a force of habit, and the movement caught her attention. She frowned.

She leaned forward. “Hang on.” Before Louis could protest she was grabbing his face, turning it this way and that. “Your eyes aren’t green.” She sat back and stared at him. “They’re blue.”

Louis was confused. He was really just so confused. “Sorry to disappoint?”

She waved her hands dismissively. “No, no. They said you might come instead of him. I just didn’t think you would.” She watched him with a new sort of appreciation in her gaze, and it made Louis uncomfortable.

He squirmed. “Um, listen –”

Before he could say anything else, a sound shrilled from not too far in the distance. It was a scream, almost. But it was empty, so heart-wrenchingly empty, and simultaneously full of a thousand muttering voices that twisted his stomach and tore his eardrums like white noise.

The girl swore. “Okay. New plan.” Louis wasn’t aware that she’d actually  _had_  a plan to begin with, but he didn’t argue as she tugged him forward and spread out his hand. She held it in her own, rubbing her free hand over the smooth palm once before snatching a small arrowhead from around her neck and digging it into his skin.

Louis watched in morbid, pained fascination as she carved a strange sign into his palm. Rather than oozing blood, the sign glowed blue. The noise around them got louder, and soon the girl was shouting at him. The mark on his hand dulled for a moment before it blazed golden yellow.

“I’m sending you back!” she exclaimed over the din. “Just keep doing what you’re doing – and warn him, okay? He needs to know –” Her words were swallowed by the sound, and Louis squinted as his palm shone brighter and brighter.

“What’s your name?” Louis called.

“Eres!” she called back, and then Louis’ vision and hearing were drowned completely.

-

He was moving at dizzying speeds. A siren was wailing. But nothing was as overwhelming as the cold air that suddenly gushed into Louis’ lungs, making Louis shudder from head to toe. He breathed through the lightheaded feeling and found himself gazing up at Harry, who was still holding on tightly to his hand.

“Haz…” he rasped, and the younger boy smiled tearfully down at him.

“Don’t worry, Louis. It’s going to be okay. We’re nearly at the hospital and you’re going to be fine, okay?”

Louis clenched his eyes closed and shook his head stubbornly. Harry didn’t understand. “No, listen to me – Harry, they’re coming, I’ve seen them –” he gasped through the thickness that seemed to be closing around his chest.

Harry stroked his hair and cooed comfortingly. “Sshh, everything’s fine,” he soothed. And Louis was trying to tell him that it wasn’t, it  _wasn’t_ , but Harry wasn’t listening and Louis wanted to cry.

His vision swam but his eyes locked on Harry’s, refusing to look away. “They’re coming for you!” he choked out. His voice was so weak that Harry mightn’t have even heard it.

The darkness was claiming him again, but this time he didn’t want it to. He needed to stay with Harry, and Harry had to  _know_  –

A single tone filled the ambulance. Louis flat lined.


	8. In So Many Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short and fluffy one-shot here. :)

**Title:**  In So Many Words

 **Summary:**  The trouble with words, Louis thinks, is that the right ones are like feathers in a hayfield – beautiful, expressive, and so hard to find. The trouble with Harry is so much more.

 

Niall Horan had seen many things in his eighteen years; many weird and wonderful things. He had taken in the view of Ireland’s lush green fields from thousands of feet in the air, as he left them behind in an airplane. He had watched condensed crowds of people singing along to his songs (that was wonderful). He had witnessed cleaners cursing and shaking their fists after teenagers had purposefully clogged the toilets in Nando’s (that was weird).

But Niall had never expected to see Louis Tomlinson poring over a thesaurus as if he was running his hands through gold.

It wasn’t that Niall didn’t think Louis was smart. On the contrary, he knew that the boy was much more intelligent than most people gave him credit for. He just didn’t realise that Louis cared much for academics.

“Louis?” he said tentatively, stepping into the sunlit living room of the apartment that Harry and Louis shared. Louis lay across the lounge, so enthralled in the book that Niall had to speak up to catch his attention. “Interesting read, Lou?” he asked dryly.

Louis sat up slowly and stared at Niall, nodding with rather wide eyes. “Niall,” he began as if he were about to question Niall’s theories on the moon landing, “Do you know how many different ways there are to say that one has a liking for something?”

Niall blinked. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. “What?”

“Penchant!” Louis announced, lying back down with his nose in the book, but raising one finger to emphasise the word.

Niall frowned, going to sit on the nearby armchair. He asked slowly, “Are ya feeling alright, Louis?”

“Oh, yes,” Louis assured. “Better than alright. But  _oh_  – predilection!”

Niall glanced around the apartment, wondering where Harry had gone to. Despite his assurances, Louis was clearly out of sorts.

Louis was now reading the list out loud. Niall listened in perplexity as he rattled off synonym after synonym with an air of passion, clutching the book to his chest like some sort of happily tormented poetess. “Weakness. Affinity. Desire. Partiality. Keenness.”

“Louis –”

“Affection.  _Ardour_ , Niall,  _ardour_! Inclination. Attachment. Devotion.” Louis swung himself around so that he was lying with his feet dangling in the air and his feathery hair nearly touching the floor. An expression of bliss was upon his face. “ _Devotion_ ,” he affirmed. “Oh, Niall, aren’t they just the loveliest words you’ve ever heard?”

Niall was genuinely alarmed now. “Louis, what the hell? You’re worrying me. Are you sick?”

Louis scoffed. Niall felt at least some relief at that. “Only sick if love is a sickness, my friend from the blessed Eire; only a weak man in heart and mind but in spirit I am true. Unluckier men know not the sweet tremble of love’s touch; they know not how gently love’s hold embraces lovers. They know not what good health truly is.” Louis closed his eyes peacefully; the thesaurus placed firmly upon his heart.

Niall’s mouth was twitching in amused disbelief at the nonsense his friend was spouting, but he swept it aside when he got the gist of what Louis meant. He raised his eyebrows, understanding washing over him. “ _Ohh_ … You mean you’re…”

Louis’ eyes fluttered open, blue swimming with ripe joy and the hopes that he believed the very stars held just for him. He rolled up into a sitting position and crossed his legs underneath him. He gazed at Niall dreamily. “Fondness is my favourite, you know? It’s soft. I think I’ll use that one. I have a  _fondness_  for Harry.”

Niall tried and failed to suppress a giggle. “Oh. That’s cute, Lou. You’re so whipped.”

“Whipped!” Louis suddenly shrieked, jumping as if he’d received an electric shock. “Oh no, Niall. I’ve only considered the nouns describing that love which I possess, but no words to mark the definition for the state which I am in!” He flipped through the thesaurus manically, his fingers flying through the pages. “And that word which I  _do_  to Harry… what is it I do to Harry?”

“Fuck him?”

“Fuck you, Niall. No, no, this is all wrong! Curse love’s inarticulate fool, unable to express the depth of his devotion to the one whom his confession would matter the most…” Louis trailed off like that, whining dejectedly, until Niall took pity on the boy and quieted his snickering. He offered a suggestion.

“Maybe you love him?”

Louis froze. Niall raised an eyebrow. Louis remained still, and the Irish lad wondered briefly if he was, in fact, breathing. Just as he was seriously considering shaking him, Louis scrambled up from the position he’d taken on the floor and hastened over to where Niall sat. He perched beside him – so distractedly that Niall had to quickly move away to avoid being sat on – and turned to look at his friend with wide, suddenly frightened eyes. His breath was coming nervously. “I love Harry,” he whispered. “Oh my God, Niall, I love Harry.”

Niall nodded, giving him a tentative smile.

“It’s that simple. I love him.” Louis clasped a shaking hand to his mouth. Niall made a move to pat him reassuringly but Louis had already shot up off the chair. In the next instant he was dancing in circles of panic around the carpet. “Oh,  _shit_. Oh crap. Oh bollocks. Oh ball sacks. I love Harry. I love Harry.”

“Whoa, Louis, calm down.” Niall exclaimed, puzzled by his friend’s sudden change in mood. Hadn’t Louis been proclaiming his love just moments earlier? Or had his mouth been running ahead of itself again, making bold assertions and only now allowing the rest of his mind to catch up?

Niall ventured a guess that it had been hearing those words out loud that caused Louis to freak; that particular phrase that made it all reality.

Louis ran his hands through his hair repeatedly. “I can’t calm down, Niall, how could I? This is serious. I love Harry. I love him.” His shoulders slumped. Niall laughed. He left the thesaurus forgotten on the lounge and began slinking along the floor. Niall watched in curiosity as he came to a halt under the table that held their large fish tank and lay there, face-down.

Niall was debating getting himself some popcorn for the show when the front door swung open and Harry entered. Harry set down the milk bottle he was holding, cast one glance at Louis, and raised an eyebrow at the guffawing blonde. Niall promptly stood up and hastened out the door, clapping Harry on the shoulder as he went. “He’s all yours, man.”

And there might have been a double entendre in that, but Niall was gone before Harry had the chance to ask.


	9. Lego House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ziall one-shot

**Title:** Lego House

 **Summary:**  It takes so long to build, but they reach so high.

-

 

Sixteen comes so easily, with green lawns and muddy knees giving way to spotlights and pay-checks and kisses from girls. They don’t miss games and Lego blocks, don’t even think about them. Success flies by like horses on the carousel. Eighteen blurs into nineteen, nineteen blurs into twenty, and twenty disappears. Lego houses become real ones. Raincoats get heavier, lines appear so slowly and moments come and go so fast that nobody notices them. Niall’s laughter gets more subdued, because no one appreciates a child. Zayn starts to think he can get by without them. Maybe he’s right.

It comes as a shock to them all when Louis is the first to walk out. He had held them together, on those nights when Harry cried or Liam couldn’t handle the stress, or Zayn withdrew or Niall was scared of the screaming and the crowds. He doesn’t make a fuss about it. He just says he is sick of management, and leaves. No one blames him. He moves to Brazil with some spirited boy from the wrong side of the tracks, and they don’t hear from him anymore.

Harry’s next. He starts a new band, and he’s so happy, because he is finally playing music that he loves and because the shredding guitars are almost loud enough to drown out the critics, to deafen him until he’s done caring about what everybody thinks. It’s almost enough to make him forget about Louis, because maybe there’s another best out there somewhere. Maybe there are second soulmates.

Liam’s gone soon after. He takes the love of his life and spins her round and round, and kisses her as passionately as a man can kiss a woman. There are flowers in her hair, and he knows that she’s the only one in the entire world. Niall cries. It’s a beautiful wedding.

And then it’s just the two of them. Zayn is sick, because he always knew it was coming to this. Life is throwing him together with the carefree, bewildering boy he’s had his eye on from the start. It is as if Fate is playing with his emotions, forcing the words out of him. One evening they’re alone on the train and Niall asks idly, “What’s your favourite line you’ve ever sung?”

Zayn turns to him and thinks that ice must be warm, warmer than anything. Because Niall’s eyes are ice blue, but nothing has even burned brighter.

So he answers, “I’ve got three little words that I’ve always been dying to tell you.” Because he has.

It all goes quickly from there, and they’re both thinking,  _‘thank goodness.’_  It’s crazy, how that first step takes the longest. It’s also crazy how life never leaves them alone – after all these years, it’s still Niall, and for Niall it’s only ever been Zayn. Love feels so easy. Every climax lasts and lasts and lasts.

 

It’s in summer the next year that they start thinking about Lego houses again. Zayn has his fingers pressed to his nose because the money isn’t in endless supplies like it used to be. He’s trying to think about his family, and the obnoxious real estate agent currently yapping in his face, and the blond boy he’s only ever wanted to please. And he just wants to do something  _right_  for once, but it’s all wrong. He thinks that Lego houses were so much easier than the real deal, and he wishes he were younger so they could just get yelled at and then laugh about it later.

Niall notices the tension in Zayn’s fraught shoulders and the self-disappointment in his eyes. So he slips up behind him, rubs his hands over his shoulders and slides them down his chest and whispers, “This one’s fine.”

Because to Niall, it  _is_  fine. They could live in a wooden shack for all he cares; it wouldn’t make a difference. He spins Zayn around and rubs his nose with his own and promises that it doesn’t matter where they are. They could be singing loudly on stage or talking quietly on a train; they could be caught up in the middle of a rioting crowd or making out under the table on New Years – it doesn’t matter.

Because when Niall is with Zayn, he never notices anything else.


	10. A Song for the Holiday

**Title:**  A Song for the Holiday

 **Summary:**  Niall is Santa’s son, destined to follow in his father’s footsteps. Zayn is the bad kid; the screw-up; the one who tops the naughty list every single year. When Niall is given the task of travelling to Bradford to sort out Zayn Malik, he never for a moment suspects that it will turn out quite like this.

Also, Harry is a delinquent, Louis is a Christmas elf, and Liam is definitely  _not_  a reindeer.

-

Candy canes in the North Pole were really something else.

Niall was currently perched in the dip of a massive one, swinging his legs and chewing a cookie cheerfully as he watched all the workers below. Christmas was his favourite time of the year. He loved the enormous, magnificent Christmas tree and the view he could see from high in the branches, where he was hanging right now. He loved the elves; the decorations; the gifts; the excited children; the  _food_. He loved the spirit of optimism that seemed to burn bright in the eyes of each joyful soul. And most of all he loved the music. Sweet cadences calling through the air; voices raised in celebratory song. Niall loved it all.

Down below the elves were singing. Niall was surrounded by soft green foliage, coloured baubles, and ribbons that were wider than his waist and many metres long. A few elves had just finished securing the star at the top of the tree and were now on their way down.

A happy burst of laughter bubbled out from Niall’s throat quite suddenly. He couldn’t contain himself. He giggled at the sights, smells and sounds that made him so giddy, until he was interrupted by a voice from just below.

“Niall! Hey, Niall!”

Niall looked down to see a slightly pale Liam clinging to the branches. His nose was glowing inadvertently. His eyes shone with relief when Niall spotted him.

Niall smirked. “You don’t have to glow, Li. I’m right here.”

Liam cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Um, I have an important message.”

Niall hopped out of the hook in the candy cane and clambered down to join Liam. “Yes?” When Liam didn’t respond he prompted, “Liam? The message?”

“Oh! Right. Your dad wants to see you.”

“What for?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Rightio.” Niall looked around for a suitably strong ribbon and settled for a nearby gold one. He grabbed it and wrapped it around his waist, then Liam’s.

Liam squawked in protest. “What are you doing?!” he exclaimed, disliking the gleam in Niall’s eye.

Niall wrapped one arm around his friend and used the other to firmly grip the ribbon. “Hold tight,” he uttered, before he leapt from the branch, pulling Liam along with him.

Liam was probably screaming – no, okay, Liam was  _definitely_  screaming – but it was lost on Niall as they swung around the glorious tree. Air rushed past his face, tree branches and decorative colours blurring together, and the ribbon slowly unravelled as they made their full way around the tree’s circumference. As they got lower they hurtled to the ground at more terrifying speeds, while Niall cackled dizzily and Liam clamped a hand over his mouth in an effort not to throw up.

They reached the bottom and landed heavily on top of an iced-over gingerbread house. They crashed right through the roof. The house crumbled to pieces.

The elf who was working on it gasped furiously. “Hey! I’d almost finished that!” he ranted, tearing his hat off and stomping in a fit. He quieted immediately when his gaze fell on Niall, who was rubbing his hair sheepishly, and Liam, who was still huddled on the ground. He sighed. “Oh. It’s you guys.”

Niall snorted. “Sorry, Louis.”

Liam launched himself at Louis and clung to him shakily. “Louis – I – it was…” he sniffled, burying his face into the elf’s bright green shirt. “ _Hold tight_ , he said… That’s all he said…”

Louis rubbed his back in comforting circles. “There, there,” he soothed. He gave Niall a disapproving look. “Where are you two off to in such a hurry?”

“We’re going to see my dad,” Niall explained. “Not sure why. Liam said he sent for me.”

“Ah.” Louis cast one distasteful look at his wrecked gingerbread house and turned back to Niall, beaming. “Well, let’s go then, boys!” He kept one arm around Liam and threw the other over Niall’s shoulders. He hastened them down the cookie-cobbled road and towards the large building some distance away; the building with the sign that said  _North Pole Productions_.

“We’re off to see the wiZAAARD –” Louis sang loudly.

“He’s not a wizard,” Liam interjected –

“The Wonderful Wizard of Oz!”

-

Niall pranced nervously outside his father’s office. Liam and Louis had been instructed to wait outside by a secretary with bright purple lipstick and fluffy white earrings. Liam had had to slap Louis’ hand away before he tugged on one. Niall had been directed down a bright corridor. It wasn’t that Niall was frightened of his father, but, well. He did wish his friends were here.

Niall heard deep, booming laughter coming from inside. He took a breath and knocked.

There was a pause. “Come in, come in!” the man behind the door cried. Niall grabbed the handle and pushed open the door.

Inside was a wide room lined with velvet, and a cushy armchair upon which sat none other than Santa. The large man dismissed the company that had been entertaining him – two elves in silly costumes – and turned to Niall, his eyes twinkling merrily. His cheeks were a cheerful, rosy pink and his beard was full and white. He gestured to Niall. “Ah! Come in, Son!”

Niall grinned and trotted over. “Hey, Dad.”

Santa ruffled his hair. “My  _beard_ , you should have seen those two elves. First they were – ho, ho, ho – first they juggled! I have never seen anyone juggle in the manner in which those elves juggled! And then they – ho – well, they – ho, ho, ho, ho – oh, they just – Aha! Oho –”

“Dad?” Niall interrupted.

Santa wiped away tears of mirth and gazed as his son. “Yes, m’boy?”

“Liam said you wanted to see me about something?”

Santa threw his hands up in the air as he remembered. “Oh, yes! That’s right. The red-nose! Such a good lad, isn’t he? Yes, yes. Ah, I have a mission for you.”

Niall’s heart thumped.  _A mission?_  Was Niall ready for one of those? He supposed his father had finally decided that he was. “Oh. Um, what is it?” Niall asked with excitement, and just a little apprehension.

Santa turned to his desk and rifled through some scrolls. “Ah, let’s see… What have we here… Yes! The Naughty List.” He picked up a scroll and handed it to Niall. “Open it and read the first name.”

Niall unrolled it just a little, and peered at the name there. “Zayn Malik?”

“Yes! Good lad, good lad. Well, bad lad, actually. Very bad lad. That’s sort of the problem.  _Zayn Malik_  has been at the top of the Naughty List every year without fail for the last… Oh, well, for a decent few years. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, Zayn Malik.”

“So…” Niall raised his eyebrows. “What’s that got to do with me?”

Santa wriggled his eyebrows. “You’re going to meet him.”

Niall blanched. “ _What?_ ”

Santa laughed. “Don’t fret! It’s not as if I’m sending you to meet a kid from the Homicidal Maniac List. He’s  _naughty_ , that’s all. But he’s what we call a border case, and I’m worried about him. So I’m sending you to sort him out. You know, straighten him up a bit; set him back on track.”

Niall blinked. “And you really think  _I_  can do that? You reckon I can help out this Zayn Malik guy?”

Santa clapped him on the back. “I do. You’re a nice kid, Niall. If anyone can do it, you can.”

While Niall was still taking this in, Santa bustled back to his table and retrieved a stack of papers, an already-packed suitcase and an odd sort of laptop. “This has all the information you’ll need. You’re to leave this evening, and take Liam with you. He can guide the way if you get lost.” He handed everything to Niall.

Niall nodded. “Will do.” On second thought, he added, “May I take Louis the elf as well?”

Santa raised an eyebrow. “Whatever for?”

Niall fumbled. “Um, um… he’s good with people. With kids. Oh! And I’ll need him because… I might need a servant.”

Santa nodded. “Okay, sure. You can take the elf.”

While Niall was imagining what Louis would look like if he ever found out Niall had called him a servant, Santa gave him a set of keys. “Also you’ll need these, if you’re going to take the sleigh.”

Niall’s face lit up like a light.

-

Liam and Louis chattered as they followed Niall down a snow bank. Liam was lightly reprimanding Louis for snatching the secretary’s shoes off her feet, though both Niall and Louis could tell that he was secretly impressed. Niall had snorted when Liam told him. “It’s a good thing elves are unlisted,” he’d said to Louis, “or Dad would be asking me to sort out  _you_.”

Now they were approaching Santa’s sleigh. Niall stopped and gestured to the vehicle. “Ahem.”

Louis’ eyes widened. He approached the sleek red machine, tracing a daring finger over its shiny surface. He looked up at Niall in awe. “He’s letting you take The  _Slay?_ ”

“It’s a sleigh,” Liam corrected.

“They’re pronounced exactly the same!”

“I know what you meant.”

“Ah, shut up, both of you,” Niall chuckled. “Yeah, we’re taking the sleigh. And staying in an apartment in the city, and Dad gave me this… err…  _credit_  card?” He pulled the card from his pocket.

Louis gasped and plucked it from his hands. He inspected it closely. He placed it between his teeth and bit. Finally, he handed it back to Niall. “It’s  _real_ ,” he said, sounding amazed.

Niall placed their suitcases in a compartment in the sleigh. “Well, hop in, boys.”

Louis put his hands on his cheeks and let out a completely unnecessary scream. “This is just like a holiday! We’re going to have so much fun!” Liam shyly agreed.

They clambered into the sleigh and got comfortable. Liam let his nose glow bright red. Louis climbed over the top of Niall in an effort to get to the driver’s seat and crowed triumphantly, beating Niall to it. Niall rolled his eyes and put on his seatbelt. He put the key in the ignition, and the sleigh lit up as it came to life.

Louis rubbed his hands together and smiled mischievously at the sight of all the buttons before him. He grabbed the steering wheel and slammed his hand down on the biggest button of all. “Are you ready?” he cheered. “Bradford bad boy, here we come!”

The button whirred into action. The sleigh took flight.

-

Somewhere in Bradford, Zayn Malik didn’t know and didn’t care.

-

The sole other time that Niall had let Louis drive his father’s sleigh, he had ambled around the North Pole at a snail’s pace. Now, Niall was expecting them to reach Bradford in a few hours, maybe more.

But oh, how horribly wrong he was.

Louis drove the sleigh like a maniac fresh out of prison. The vehicle’s magically enhanced speed meant that Niall was accustomed to travelling fast, but as they ricocheted through the sky that evening he was certain he’d never really known what  _fast_  was. He was pretty sure the inbuilt inertial dampeners didn’t cover this.

Louis beamed like he’d found his life’s calling, and it was all Niall and Liam could do to lean back and hold on for dear life.

They reached Bradford in an impressive 29 minutes and 5 seconds. Louis prepared to land on the roof of the apartment block they would be staying in. He pulled on the gearstick and steered the sleigh hastily, but suddenly they were hurtling towards the concrete and their angle was all wrong and they were going to crash and Louis looked aghast as he shrieked, “Niall?!”

Niall swore loudly and lunged over to grab the controls. He levelled them out just in time. They landed hard. Shudders shook through the sleigh, but thankfully they didn’t crash.

They sat in stunned silence for a moment.

Liam looked a bit shocked. Niall shook him gently. “Let’s go, Li.” Niall stood up and climbed out, trying not to sway nauseatingly as he set foot on the concrete. Liam followed suit, and Louis bounded out behind them.

They took their bags, and Niall lead the way through the rooftop fire escape, down the stairs and onto the top floor of the building. The apartment they were staying in was owned by Niall’s father, though to his knowledge in hadn’t been used in years. (He also found himself wondering how the guy had come to own a flat in Bradford in the first place. Santa works in mysterious ways.)

Louis stopped the other two at the door and turned to them with shining eyes. “You know what this feels like?”

Liam shook his head.

Louis continued. “This feels like we’re, like, university students, setting off on our own, stepping into the bliss of a parent-free apartment and living it up. We need to throw a party! We’ll need vodka and music –  _non_ -Christmas music! – and, and…”

Niall swung the door open and pushed him inside. “We need to work on the mission. No parties.”

Louis whined dramatically and shot Liam an evil look when the doe-eyed boy laughed. Niall switched on the light, and gasped.

The apartment was, well. It was actually kind of  _cool_.

Marble tiles and warm rugs covered the floor of the living room, which led into an expensive-looking kitchen. Alongside the polished kitchen benches were semi-transparent blue and pink chairs with lights shining from inside them. On the nearest wall of the living room was a large flat-screen TV. The walls were lined with dark, tidy bookshelves and green potted plants. Some soft, plush dice occupied the floor (Niall wasn’t sure whether they were chairs or footrests or decorations or something else) and in the centre of the room was a long, white, modernistic lounge.

Louis went straight for the lounge and dropped on it contentedly. Liam quickly splayed himself across him.

Niall raised an eyebrow and joined his friends, scooping up a handful of jellybeans from a bowl that seemed to be waiting for him on the coffee table and plopping down on top of them. “Now I guess we make ourselves at home.”

Tomorrow they would find Zayn Malik. Tonight, Niall thought he could get used to this.

-

As it turned out, finding Zayn Malik was easier said than done. Liam had woken them all in the early hours of the morning to get started on their task. Santa’s instructions were actually rather vague, as had quickly become apparent to Niall when he made the frustrating realisation that he didn’t know what he was doing at all. He had told Liam so with a groan. Then Louis had walked in with his hair side-swept and his trousers slung lower than would ever be permitted in the Pole, and said, “Just befriend the guy. How hard can it be?”

And honestly, Niall was sociable. He was. So he had allowed Louis’ words to infuse him with optimism, and hoped that everything would be perfectly fine.

But it was now past noon, and Niall was slumped despairingly on a seat at a bus stop in the city. Liam was typing slowly on the laptop Santa had given them. Louis was carrying a strawberry milkshake, eight shopping bags, and a bruised ego after getting them thrown out of three shopping centres.

“Ah!” Liam cried out in triumph. “I found something!” He pointed at the screen.

Niall hurried over to see what he was pointing at. Louis finished his milkshake and set the empty cup studiously on his head. He joined them and peered at the screen. “What is it?” Niall asked.

“Zayn’s high school is on this street and this street,” Liam explained, pointing to a map onscreen. “Normal teenagers go to high school, right? So we might find him there. It’s close enough to walk to.”

Niall gave him a thumbs up. “Great work. Let’s go.”

-

Zayn’s school looked just the way Niall had often imagined high school. It was a gigantic mass of dirty bricks, graffiti-covered walls, hard ground and grass, and somehow it was all incredibly imposing. Louis wore a look of slight disbelief, but Liam’s eyes were shining with joy.

Niall glanced across the street and laid eyes on two teenagers who were lingering by a wall and sharing a lighter. Frowning, he checked his notes. He gestured to Louis and Liam, and pointed out the darker teen. “That’s him. Zayn Malik.”

Without waiting for the other two, Niall put on his most friendly smile and crossed the street. Louis followed, pulling and coaxing Liam along. The pair of boys looked up when Niall reached them.

Niall casually tucked his hands in his back pockets and grinned a hello. “Hey, guys.”

Niall felt Louis and Liam come up behind him. The two boys studied them suspiciously. Zayn had dark, sharply-cut features and stunningly long eyelashes. If there was a subtle hint of sensitivity in his brown eyes, it was concealed buy veils upon veils of attitude. His friend was even more of an enigma. He had brown curls, emerald eyes, creamy skin and an angelic baby face. His red lips were slung in a leer.

Liam panicked under their scrutiny, feeling as if they needed to say something more to validate themselves as friends, not foes. He blinked rapidly and struck a hasty pose. “Yo diddly wassup dawgs.”

The curly-haired boy burst into laughter at that, draping an arm over Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn smirked in amusement. He shrugged at Niall. “Hey.”

And oh, his voice was softer than Niall had expected. Niall beamed back. This wasn’t so hard. “We’re new in town, like. Trying to get familiar with the place and all. So we thought we’d say hello.”

Zayn nodded a bit disinterestedly. “Yeah.”

But Green Eyes focused his gaze on Niall, tapping his cigarette to put it out. “Yeah? There’s a party tonight. You should come.” Zayn snorted at that, turning to hide his face against Green Eyes as he shook with quiet laughter.

Niall chuckled along awkwardly and turned to cast a look at Louis that said  _help_. But Louis didn’t seem to catch the look at all. In fact, he didn’t seem to be noticing anything other than Green Eyes at the moment.

A strange flush had come over Louis cheeks, and his expression was slightly panicked, even confused. He glanced at Niall and, catching his look, shook himself and seemed to snap back out of it.

Louis smiled brightly, stepped forward easily. “Yeah, we can do that.” He held Green Eyes’ gaze levelly. “We’re up for anything, really.”

Green Eyes raised his eyebrows at that. He paused – taking in Louis’ brightly coloured elf attire – before saying to Zayn, “What’s with the fruit tart?”

Zayn laughed out loud, and Green Eyes joined him. Judging by the delivery, Niall guessed that the insult might have been even more offensive than he or Louis could comprehend.

Louis flushed angrily. His shoulders shot up to his ears, but he bit back a snide response and Niall could see that he was genuinely making an effort to control his temper. Liam whispered quiet, soothing words in an attempt to calm him down.

Trying to salvage the situation, Niall tried to make a friendly joke with Zayn. “Gee, and they said the  _weather_ would be welcoming in Bradford, haha…”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the brightest thing to ever come out of Niall’s mouth. His heart sank a little when Zayn raised an eyebrow and didn’t reply, but whispered something to Green Eyes. Green Eyes laughed rudely.

And that was when Liam had had enough. Standing a bit straighter and taking on a lecturing tone, he addressed the boys firmly. “You know, when someone with good intentions makes an effort to converse with you, the decent thing to do is reciprocate –”

Green Eyes smirked at Liam. “You know, I’ve got a boil on my foot that looks just like you. Wanna see?”

Liam pressed his lips together, shutting down immediately. For Louis, that was the last straw. Niall pinched the bridge of his nose.  _Oh, no_.

Louis balled his hands into fists. “Right!” he yelled. He launched himself at Green Eyes – whose jaw dropped in pure shock – and just before Louis’ fist could connect with that jaw, Liam grabbed him and pulled him back.

Green Eyes was rolling up his sleeves. Zayn’s face was pulled back in a grin, but his eyes were flashing darkly. Niall swore under his breath. He pointed, shouted “Look over there!” and while Zayn and his friend were distracted, he threw a handful of magic dust in the air. He, Liam and Louis disappeared in a puff of golden smoke.

They ended up in a meadow in who-knows-where (though once Niall got his bearings, he knew that they weren’t far from Bradford). Niall sighed and sat down on the grass.

Liam laughed nervously. “Err… that went well?”

Louis looked ready to burst into tears.

-

After magicking themselves into a meadow that made Liam sneeze and Louis get himself inexplicably muddy, the trio caught a bus back into Bradford. It was late, and Niall was embarrassedly worn out. He wasn’t used to people not liking him – and Zayn hadn’t seemed to like him one bit.

He leaned against Liam’s shoulder on the bus ride, letting his eyelids slip slowly closed. Through his lashes the painted bars and coloured bus seats looked almost like his bedroom at home, and he was content to pretend that the hum of city traffic was really falling snow.

He awoke what felt like minutes later to gentle shaking and a finger in his face. “Niall,” Liam cooed. “Niall, this is our stop.”

Niall sat up quickly and shook himself awake. “Ohh. Mhmm. Bettergettheerrthingsandthatcraic.” Laughing, Louis pulled him up and the three of them hurried off the bus.

-

The bus drew away. In its wake, Liam spotted an old lady hobbling across the road. “Oh!” he exclaimed, hastening over to help her. Louis and Niall followed suit. Liam offered her a genteel hand. “May I help you, ma’am?”

The lady squinted at his through thick glasses and then spat out a furious away of swearwords. Liam could only gawk as she began slapping him with her handbag. Niall quickly grabbed Liam’s hand and pulled him away, pulling Louis along with them when the elf opened his mouth to say something snappy. Louis protested, but Liam couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

When the old lady had gone on her way, Niall heard a tinkle of laughter from behind them. He spun around to face a girl around their own age. She grinned and stuck out her hand. “You boys new in town?”

Niall shook it and nodded. “Yeah.”

She laughed again. “You’ll get used to it. I’m Cher. Say, are you doing anything tonight?”

The rational part of Niall’s mind told him to say  _yes_ , but he shook his head. “I’m Niall. And no.”

A pleased smile crossed her face. “It’s lovely to meet you, Niall. And in that case, you should come to my party tonight.”  Before Niall could really process what was happening, she wrote down an address on a note in her pocket and handed it to him. “It’ll be a riot. I’ll see you there?”

Niall nodded. “Definitely. We’ll be there and square.” She giggled, flashing pearly white teeth at them before she waved a friendly goodbye. Niall turned back to Liam and Louis, displaying the piece of paper with a raised eyebrow. “Well, boys,” he grinned, “It looks like things might work out here, after all.”

-

Niall had been to many parties before, but he’d never been to one quite like this. Outside, Cher’s house looked like an ordinary suburban residence, picket fence and all. But inside, Niall discovered a world of disco lights and drunken decadence. Youth danced and wreaked havoc on the floors and the tabletops; in closets and bathrooms. Sound vibrations thrummed through every surface, jarring his ears. The scent of liquor teased his nostrils and enticed him in.

Pausing in the doorway, Niall turned to the others and grinned. “Let’s just…”

“Go in there and have fun?” Louis suggested, a similar delighted smile on his face.

Liam was more hesitant. His eyebrows turned upwards. “Let’s agree not to do anything irresponsible though, okay? Okay?” He looked dubiously from Niall to Louis and back.

Niall patted him reassuringly. “Of course, Li. We’re still on a mission and all.”

Louis gave his hurried agreement before navigating off into the thick of the party. He found a group of people by the stairs, talking loudly and laughing tipsily. Louis started chatting to them without hesitation, and it was stunning how quickly they seemed to accept him into their midst.

Niall turned to comment on this to Liam, but the brunet was suddenly swept up by a group of giggling girls. His eyes widened in fright. They peppered him with questions –  _What’s your name? Where are you from?_  – while Liam just looked to Niall helplessly. Niall laughed. Liam pouted, and one of the girls exclaimed, “He’s adorable!” Then he was tugged off towards the living room lounge.

Niall was left to wander the party. He gave a few people friendly smiles and gravitated towards the kitchen, in hopes of finding both conversation and food. He stopped to compliment a girl in an orange dress and  _oh_ , she was tall, but  _ow_ , she just pinched his cheek and that really hurt. He waved goodbye and moved on.

And halted in shock.

Out on the balcony was a familiar shady figure, smoking in the company of a few other kids with crafty eyes. Zayn chatted to friends while his thin hand slid up a girl’s shirt. She giggled, hiding her face against his neck. He stroked her hair absentmindedly and his eyes slid across the surroundings until, somehow, they found Niall’s. Niall suddenly felt as if he was being laughed at. Zayn’s face stayed blank, but amusement twinkled darkly in his gaze.

Niall broke eye contact. Feeling oddly unsure, he looked around to seek out Liam and Louis. He spotted Louis quickly. The elf was standing amongst a crowd of people, but didn’t seem interested in the conversation at hand. He shared a glance with Niall for a moment, but no, he wasn’t looking for Niall either – as Niall watched, Louis crossed the room and headed straight for a person Niall hadn’t noticed. He was going to speak to Zayn’s curly-haired friend from earlier.

_Oh no._

Niall pushed past some people and gestured wildly to Louis. Louis deliberately avoided his gaze. He marched straight ahead, while Niall drew desperately on every bit of magic in his body to telepathically persuade him to  _look at me, you bloody idiot!_  But unfortunately Niall was not a telepath. And even if he had been, there was no swaying Louis from his goal.

A girl called out “Harry!” and the curly-haired boy turned and waved. So, his name was Harry. This new information reached Louis’ ears too, and the elf only seemed encouraged by it. He scooted through a crowd of larger people determinedly, and stopped right in front of Harry.

Niall had to do something. He had to intervene. But as he watched in mild horror, Harry smiled at Louis in a perfectly civilised manner. Louis, taken by surprise, smiled back. A few words were exchanged. “Well hang me on the mantelpiece and call me Stocking,” Niall muttered. They appeared to be conversing genially. Niall debated whether or not to check up on Liam, but realised he needn’t bother – he soon found the boy leaning back on the lounge with a grin on his face, while a girl gave him a private dance.

The sight made him both proud of Liam, and a little lonely.

He’d never realised this before, but parties were actually kind of awful.

So Niall did what Niall always did when he didn’t feel quite right – he fed the fish.

The fish tank in Cher’s house was large and beautiful. Niall clung to it like Santa to his toy workshop – a place of warmth and quiet in the bitter Arctic cold. Watching fish was like that. It calmed Niall, helping him find peace when he was frustrated with a seemingly hopeless task. Niall closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the glass. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, but he had downed a few more drinks and chatted briefly to a girl named Amy (who laughed at everything, and Niall loved finding other people with his sense of humour) before he pulled away, feeling slightly better than before.

Niall found Louis at the kitchen table, sitting across from a leering Harry and surrounded by excited onlookers. He saw the shot glasses in front of him and his eyes widened. He knew this game.

Harry set down an empty shot glass and grinned. He ruffled his hair and stared challengingly at Louis, whose jaw was set in determination. Louis picked up a glass and gulped down its contents, swaying only slightly before he placed it down and glared at Harry.

Niall really did have to intervene this time. He tried to push through their little audience, hissing to get Louis’ attention. “Louis! Lou!”

Harry’s eyes flickered to Niall. His gaze fell back upon Louis’ face. His face was unreadable for a moment, but then he shrugged. “I give up. You win.”

Louis leapt up and cried out in triumph. “I did it! Haha! Pay up, people,” he chortled, obnoxiously rubbing his victory in Harry’s face. Harry rolled his eyes and handed Louis a few crumpled notes. Winnings tucked safely in his pocket; Louis left the table to go celebrate with his newfound ‘friends’. He walked unsteadily, bursting into giggles when he nearly tripped over a chair. Harry watched in wry amusement, his eyes straying to Louis’ bottom. He stood from the table and stalked off. He looked completely sober.

Niall sighed and trailed after Louis, almost stumbling upon the entwined legs of Liam and the dancer from earlier. Okay. That was happening. It also crossed his mind that he had no idea where Zayn was and still hadn’t made any progress on the mission.

But those things were secondary in importance to the fact that Louis was clearly extremely drunk. His boisterous laughter could be heard from across the room, where he was staggering worryingly while a group of strangers led him away. His arms were draped over their shoulders, his body limp and his eyes hazy. Vague recognition crossed his face when he spotted Niall. “Hey, Ni –”

Niall rolled his eyes. “Stay right there, Louis,” he called, but his words were drowned out as he was suddenly swept up in a mass of dancing bodies. They were gyrating to something loud and awful, and their movements tossed Niall to the floor. He pulled himself up and pushed through them, only to find that Louis was gone.

He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Liam!” he called out, at a loss for what else to do. “Liam!”

He wasn’t expecting it to work, and it didn’t. But then, “Liam left with Danielle,” a girl told him from the drinks table.

Niall thanked her, though his insides twisted in panic. “Louis!” he hollered then, heart sinking as he realised where Louis’ companions were probably taking him. He headed outside, and a glance towards the road confirmed his suspicions. Louis was being ushered into an unfamiliar car by an unfamiliar face. The car door slammed closed and the car drove off, and Niall doubted that Louis was even aware of what was happening.

Niall tried to bolt after them, but he was pushed back by the swaying crowds. A new song came onto the stereo, and people started yelling, kicking and jumping. Niall was shoved against the brick wall. His back ached with the force of it, and he winced as his claustrophobia fully kicked in.

Niall’s heart thudded rapidly against his chest. His breathing constricted and his limbs began to shake. He flung his hands out blindly and somehow found a chair, which he pulled himself into gratefully. He pressed his hands over his eyes and tried to think of things to calm him – a fish pond, a guitar, his father in the North Pole, his mother in the green fields of Ireland. He tried so desperately not to think about the failed mission, the pulsing crowds, or his best friends being swallowed up by the dark, seedy city.

But the music was ugly and painful; the stench of liquor so thick it made him queasy. Niall was one helpless teenager in a tumultuous sea of uncaring faces, and he was so very far from home.

-

All Louis really knows is that he’s never felt quite like this.

He doesn’t know whether it’s the alcohol coursing through his veins or something else, but he’s fairly certain it has at least a little bit to do with the  _something else_  part. He likes it. He likes the dizziness and the flush that can feel coming over his skin. When someone winds the car window down he likes the cool breeze rushing over his face. He feels unsteady, but it’s a good kind of unsteady. And if he doesn’t know the names of anyone around him, that’s okay. Louis has always been able to adapt.

By the time the car stops somewhere and the doors are thrown open, Louis is swaying. He’s laughing and speaking, too, though he can barely understand the words coming out of his own mouth. “How dumb’rr lists, an’way,” he thinks he slurs as someone puts their hands on his waist and pulls him outside. “Like who issanta to decide whosa good an’ who’s bad, like, howd’ we know good n’ bad ev’n exist, y’know?”

He’s vaguely aware that he might be a little bit drunk.

He wobbles along complacently while his new friends pull him down a pathway and up some veranda stairs. He’s a bit confused. He tugs his wrist away from the hand that’s encircling it. “Robert? Whassagoing?”

Somebody laughs, and their name might not even be Robert. He doesn’t know. But it’s cold and Louis suddenly realises that he has  _no idea_  where he is, or where Liam and Niall are, and he’s more than a little bit scared. He folds his arms together and pulls away. “No.”

The same harsh voice laughs again. Louis can’t see straight. “Come on, it’ll be fun,” another voice urges, and then someone is curling their arm around him.

Louis jumps away from them. “No, I don’ wanna go,” he says emphatically. They don’t understand, or they’re not listening to him. They’re not listening because they don’t care. Louis’ lip trembles.

Another figure steps out from the hedges a few feet away. He’s tallish and familiar, and he addresses the group surrounding Louis. “Come on guys, lay off.”

The boys surrounding Louis laugh. “Lighten up H, we’re just having a bit of fun,” one of them sniggers. Louis shivers.

 _H_  steps closer. “You’ve had it,” he growls. “Let him go.” His face and voice are swimmingly familiar, and Louis gawks at him for a moment before recognition dawns.

“Harry?” Louis asks disbelievingly, before the hands from before yank him backwards. He stumbles on the pavement, and it hurts. “Stop,” he mumbles. But they’re pulling him up the stairs. Grasping his clothes. Cackling, shoving him forward, and sliding their hands down his –

“Stop!” Louis shrieks, hastening away from the boys in real fear now. Without thinking he skitters towards Harry, who pushes Louis behind him protectively.

Harry flexes his fists, sizing up the boys. “That’s enough. Are we going to have a problem here?”

Robert’s eyes flick to Harry’s fists for a moment before he backs up. “Forget it,” he sneers, shoving past Harry and striding away. His friends follow him, and then it’s just Louis and Harry.

Louis wavers dazedly for a moment. Harry stoops a little to wrap an arm around him. “C’mon. Let’s find you somewhere to lie down,” he says gently, and he’s probably not even making fun.

“I could’ve taken them,” Louis mumbles, because he’s seen people say it in human movies. He allows Harry to lead him forward. “I could’ve used my magic on them if I wasn’t so drunk.”

Harry chuckles. “I’m sure you could use your magic on anyone, anytime.” He’s smiling at Louis. He doesn’t get it, really, but Louis doesn’t mind.

Harry doesn’t know where Louis lives, so he asks Louis if he can take him to his house. Louis is feeling sleepy and compliant, so he agrees. Harry steers him into the living room and plops him down in the lounge. He sets about taking blankets from a nearby cupboard.

Louis lies back on the cushions. “I’m not like you, Harry,” he murmurs, sighing contentedly as he settles in.

“You’re kind of short,” Harry agrees, wandering over and throwing some blankets over Louis.

Louis frowns. “Not like that,” he protests, eyelids fluttering as he fights against the sleep at the edges of his consciousness. It’s going to overwhelm him in a minute, he knows, but he has to keep talking to Harry before he wakes up in the morning and is grumpy with him again. “I’ll show you one day,” he promises, the words falling out of his mouth in a gentle puff of air.

Harry ruffles his hair. “I believe you. Get some sleep.”

Louis falls asleep to the sounds of his own soft breathing, and the humming of a boy who doesn’t seem that bad at all.

-

Liam knows streets like these. Tonight he knows them in a different way, though: suddenly, he knows a girl with laughing brown eyes; curls springing in her hair and lips that are oh-so-sweet.

He takes a risk and slides his leg between Danielle’s. She laughs in delight. She slings her arms around his neck and draws him in closer. Liam smiles into the kiss.

It’s  _hot_. There is always heat inside Liam; a never-depleting ball of bright magic nestled in the folds of his heart. He draws on it to light the sky through his nose, He draws on it when he’s in need of guidance, or comfort, or even the simple reminder that somebody thought he was special, once – special enough to take a chance on. It reminds him that he’s significant in this world.

This heat is different though. It’s a new kind of magic; a spark completely unfamiliar to him. He likes it immediately – latches onto it in a way he puts down to hormones, but wonders if it’s more that it’s  _Danielle_ , it’s  _Danielle kissing him_  and maybe this really is some wondrous kind of spell.

-

_Six-year old Liam stumbled into a gutter in the alley he too often called home. Dusk had fallen, and tonight there were other children with him. They shoved him back, calling him names; asking him if he had a name of his own._

_“It’s L-Liam,” he stammered out._

_“Liam?” they jeered, brutal laughter tearing from their tiny throats. “What kinda name is Liam? Where’re ya mum and dad, Liam? Hey? Give me that coat; that’s mine.”_

_One boy lunged forward and wrenched the threadbare coat from Liam’s shoulders. It was a scruffy thing, but Liam’s father had given it to him and his mother had sewn warm lining into the pockets and sleeves. The buttons looked to Liam like precious gems. The coat, though ragged now, was probably the most valuable thing Liam owned._

_“No!” Liam screamed, watching in dismay as one of the treasured buttons tore off and fell into the gutter, rolling into a drainpipe and disappearing into the drains below. The other children screeched with laughter. Liam gripped the coat with all his might, and the boy tugging it let go._

_“Whatever,” the boy sneered. “It’s a crappy old thing anyway.” He shoved Liam back against the wall, hard enough for the air to rush out of Liam’s body with a whoosh._

_The kids left, but not before a couple of them had delivered some well-aimed kicks to his gut. Liam curled in upon himself, letting hot tears roll down his cheeks as he watched them go._

-

Niall might be losing his mind.

The party finished hours ago. Cher is upstairs urging a few stragglers to get out of her house. Niall is pacing downstairs, trying not to give too much belief to the various catastrophic scenarios running through his mind.

His friends might be dead. He’s slightly, almost, maybe, probably certain of it. They’re dead in a gutter. That’s what they have in cities like Bradford, right? Gutters? Niall doesn’t even know. They haven’t been here for two whole days yet and already Niall’s let it come to this.

He’s out of his wits fretting over Louis. Louis can take care of himself, most of the time. He’s smart. He’s loud and strong, and he’s  _tough_  in a way that Niall has never been. He has an aura about him that says to most people ‘ _don’t mess with me’._  And they don’t. Niall had been in awe of Louis when he first met him; when he was five and Louis was seven and Louis was the funniest thing in the world. He can recall how he had toddled around after the littlest elf with something like stars in his eyes.

But Niall knows that Louis is vulnerable, too. Up until a few hours ago he had never seen Louis let his guard down. Not like that. And it scares him. He’s read books about the kinds of strangers Louis got in a car with tonight. It scares him down to his core.

And then there’s Liam. Oh, shimmying candy canes,  _Liam_. Liam is good now, but Niall will always remember the boy who had come stumbling into his house one wintry night, shuddering under some blankets that Niall father had wrapped around him. His father had clapped Liam on the back and declared that the boy was destined to be a red-nose, and that he and Niall would be the best of friends. Liam’s pale cheeks had gone slightly pink.

When Liam had been fed and tucked into bed, Santa took his tiny son and looked at him very seriously. “Take care of him, Niall. Will you promise to do that for me?”

Niall had nodded and cheered out a hearty “Yes!” Santa had smiled approvingly and clapped him on the back, declaring that the spirit of Christmas was strong in him. Niall had never broken a promise to his father.

He never has. Not until tonight.

“Hey. Blondie.”

Niall jumps around, startling from his thoughts. Zayn has been lurking around, apparently, and is now staring at him from across the kitchen bench. “Zayn?” Niall says dumbly.

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “What’s got you all worked up?”

Niall presses his lips together. He clenches his hands and unclenches them, and eventually sighs. “I’ve lost my friends.”

Zayn snorts. “I’d tell you to make new ones, but, y’know.” He gestures to Niall’s, well, everything.

Niall looks down at himself and back up. “What?” he asks, brow furrowing. “Wait. No. Never mind. I’m serious, though. Liam’s gone off with some girl and Louis got in a car with a gang of bloodthirsty criminals.” The last part might be a bit of an exaggeration, but for all Niall knows it might actually be true.

Zayn shrugs. “So? They’ll turn up. You need to relax. Have a fag.” When Niall quirks an eyebrow, Zayn takes a cigarette from his mouth and holds it out.

Niall shakes his head. “No thanks. I’m plenty relaxed.” At Zayn’s smirk, he frowns indignantly and tries to loosen his shoulders. “I am!”

Zayn tosses the cigarette at him. “Have it.”

Niall frowns. The little stick hits chest and falls onto the bench. Zayn picks it up. He tosses it again. “Have it.” And again. “Have it. Have it. Have it.”

“Fuck!” Niall shouts, snatching the cigarette from Zayn’s hand as he prepares to throw it for the umpteenth time. “Fine! Fine. Light it, will you? Fuck.”

Zayn smirks and obliges, reaching out with his lighter. He lights the cigarette and Niall places it in his mouth, acting in the spur of the moment with one thought in mind –  _make him stop_. But a moment later all thought is wiped from his brain as he inhales, and toxic smoke fills his lungs.

It’s horrible. It’s like being trampled by seventeen reindeers; it’s like burning up in the atmosphere when one’s sleigh malfunctions. It’s like every horrible thing but mostly it’s like cigarette smoke, and Niall thinks he’s going to die. They’ll have to send him home in a casket shaped like a Christmas gift. Everything is terrible.

Everything is terrible, and Niall squints across the bench to see that Zayn is  _laughing_.

When Niall finally has enough oxygen to breathe, he glares. “You’re awful.”

Zayn shrugs. “Aw, come on. It gets more enjoyable after the first time. I promise.”

Niall huffs. “No thanks.” He crosses his arms, feeling annoyed and inexplicably self-conscious.

Zayn’s eyes are sparkling. “Who  _are_  you?” he asks, and the way he says it surprises Niall. As if the answer maybe matters to Zayn.

Niall answers without hesitation. “I’m Niall,” he says as Zayn comes around to his side of the bench, sliding his slender fingers along the granite top.

“Well, Niall. I’m Zayn,” he murmurs. “And I’d like to do this.” Eyes glittering with some dark amusement, he takes Niall’s face in both hands and kisses him warmly on the lips.

Niall freezes. For a moment, he feels only stunned. And then he tastes Zayn’s tobacco-stained mouth against his own and soft lips brushing his, and he wriggles loose and pulls away. He pushes Zayn back. “What was that?!”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “A kiss?”

“You can’t just – I won’t just – I don’t even  _know_  you!” Niall flounders, trying to understand why he feels dreadful and electric and almost good all at once.

Zayn just blinks at him. “Does it matter?”

“Yes!” Niall returns. He can’t deal with this. His friends could be in danger and he’s sitting here fretting. It’s late and he’s homesick and everything is going wrong. He can’t deal with unwanted advances right now; he just can’t.

Zayn doesn’t protest as Niall grabs his things and hurries past him. Niall leaves without looking back or pausing to bid Cher goodbye. He hails a taxi, pausing for a moment before he at length gives the driver the address to his apartment. It’s not where he should be, but he doesn’t know where else to go.

-

Liam and Danielle don’t make out all night. She takes him back to her apartment, and the conversation is so rick that they find themselves sitting cross legged on her lounge for the next few hours, just talking.

Liam is leaning forward and smiling, suddenly feeling brave in all the ways he never has before. At around 2a.m. Danielle yawns and pats his knee, unfolding her lithe legs and stepping out into the kitchen. She beckons Liam, who follows. “I want to show you something.”

Danielle takes a jar out of the cupboard, and Liam holds back a grin. “It’s not a human finger collection, is it?” he jokes. She flicks him on the ear.

“Shut up. No, they’re just cookies.”

“Cookies?”

Danielle nods. “I’ve never baked before. I’m awful at cooking in general, actually. If I tested these out on my other friends they’d probably laugh. But you won’t do that, will you?” She blinks up at him coyly.

Liam purses his lips and shakes his head. “Scout’s honour.”

Danielle smiles. “Good. Hold out your hands?” Liam obliges. Danielle shakes a few cookies into them. The cookies are star-shaped and dusted in icing sugar. Liam places on in his mouth and chews experimentally.

He raises his eyebrows, looking impressed. “Mm, they’re – ow!” he smacks a hand to his lips and ends up hitting his nose. “Oof! Ugh.” He winces at the pain that shoots through his teeth, and paws his throbbing nose.

Danielle bursts into laughter. “What?”

“What kinds of nuts are these?” Liam asks indignantly. Danielle purses her lips and shrugs. At the look on his face, she bursts into a fresh round of laughter.

“I’m sorry!” she exclaims, giggling into his shirt and not sounding sorry at all.

After a moment, Liam sighs and chuckles along. He picks her up and sets her on the kitchen table, pressing his icing-dusted nose against hers. “It’s okay,” he says, smiling shyly. “You could always try again if you wanted to.”

Her eyes light up at the thought. “You wouldn’t mind being the person I test them on?”

He leans in to kiss the ecstatic grin that crosses her lips. “Not at all.”

-

_Liam pulled his torn coat tighter around him, shivering as the first snowflake touched his tear-stained cheek. He sighed, sniffling and rubbing his eyes, and it was only when he pulled his face away from his sleeve that he noticed the red glow that filled the alleyway._

_He looked up, and was surprised to see an odd sort of man._

_The man knelt down so that he wasn’t towering over Liam. He smiled so kindly that Liam couldn’t help but smile back. He pulled himself into a shaky sitting position, and the man held out a handkerchief. It was green silk with a little gold insignia in the corner, and Liam simply stared._

_“You look like you could use one of these, lad?” The man encouraged, though he was careful not to come closer to Liam than he already was. Liam appreciated that as much as the handkerchief gesture. He smiled gratefully as he took it._

_“Thank you,” Liam murmured timidly, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose on the soft silk. He fumbled with it awkwardly afterwards._

_The man beamed. “You’re welcome. Keep it, if you wish.” He offered, and Liam’s fingers tightened around the handkerchief. The man was big, but not scarily so. His cheeks were pink and jolly, and his long beard was snowy white. His eyes sparkled from beneath enormous eyebrows. They wiggled, and Liam laughed._

_“You’re funny,” Liam said, feeling a little braver. The man chuckled. “Ho ho, I hope so.”_

_“What’s your name?” Liam asked._

_“Santa,” he answered cheerily. “May I ask yours?”_

_“Liam,” the boy replied quietly, still feeling a bit self-conscious from the teasing of the children who’d been there just before._

_Santa hummed in approval. “Well that’s a fine, strong name. May I ask you something, Liam?”_

_Liam nodded wordlessly._

_“Have you been spending all your winter nights alone here in this alley?” He asked it gently and without judgement; sadly, but without the kind of unwanted pity that would make Liam shy away._

_Santa hummed again, this time in sympathy. “May I ask you something else, Liam?”_

_“Just ask it. Please.”_

_“Would you like your life to be different?”_

_Liam gazed at him, deliberating. “Different in what way?”_

_Santa scratched his beard. When he took his hand away, a ball of red magic glittered in his palm. “This is a special kind of magic,” Santa explained. “It’s for guiding. I usually only let my reindeers have it, but I think it could be yours, if you wished.” He watched Liam attentively, being careful to seem imposing or demanding to the fragile boy. “But only if you wished, Liam. It’s completely up to you.”_

_Liam’s gaze flicked up to meet Santa’s. “What would I have to do?” he asked, refusing to be drawn in by warmth and pretty lights._

_“Come to the North Pole with me. Become a guide. You’d have a job, a warm home and a proper education. Good friends and a loving family, if you wanted that. And you could leave at anytime you wished.”_

_Liam nodded. His eyes fell once again to the shimmering orb of magic. He already felt attached to it somehow, as if it wanted him too._

_Liam nodded decisively now. “Yes. I want to come. And – one more question.”_

_Santa smiled gently. “Yes, Liam?”_

_Liam’s voice was a whisper. “Why me?”_

_Santa held the orb out to him then. Liam took it, and watched in fascination as the little red light floated towards his heart. It nestled inside his chest, glowing brighter before it settled down. Santa tapped his nose. “Because sometimes magic calls to people, Liam. And at think that little bit of magic was always meant for you.”_

_That night Liam left his little alleyway sleeping in the snowflakes. He rose up in a sleigh and stumbled into a warm cottage stirring miles away, and for the first time in a long time he felt safe and loved. It would be the first such night of many. That night he fell asleep in a big, soft bed, in the company of a blue-eyed boy who sang him lullabies and watched over him while he slept._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I maybe want to actually re-do something with this one because it had a good thing going for a while. Idk.


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